


My Sunshine

by AngeDeLumiere



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 83,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2506304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeDeLumiere/pseuds/AngeDeLumiere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. </p><p>Asami Ryuichi is the king of the underworld, and Takaba Akihito is about to see how far he will go to protect what is his. A country will fall to its knees in order for Asami to safeguard his sunshine. </p><p>Please don’t take my sunshine away.</p><p>Arc Two: Hurt is now up!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You are My Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing but the situations and the original characters.

One.

It was big news if a Japanese business deal impacted Europe. The East Asia economy was stable, firm, unshakeable. European markets were weak, toppling at the slightest tremor. A beautiful woman scratched just behind the tucked ears of a misty gray pit bull. “Just look Asimov,” she cooed, slanted eyes flitting over the English paper. “Look at what our boy is doing.”

Tokyo Tycoon Expands: Sion Industry Floods Market with Themed Clubs

The pit bull wagged his tail. “Good boy,” the woman dropped the newspaper on the granite countertop. “Do you need to go outside?” Ruffling her waist length black hair, her his swayed as she walked to the glass wall. A pure white Pomeranian wove between her bare legs, yipping in glee as she slid the door open. Asimov trotted faithfully behind the much smaller dog onto the penthouse terrace. For such a small dog, Ruger had absolutely no fear of heights. She loved to watch the London skyline, and they often left the patio door open so she could go as she pleased. 

“What are we going to do with him?” she mused to her babies. “He is getting bolder.”

“You’re speaking in Japanese,” dark arms encircled her bare waist, and he buried his nose in her thick hair. “And wearing skimpy lingerie for the world to see. You know what that does to me.”

“You are incorrigible,” she stroked his week old scruff. 

“Always, when it comes to you,” he kissed her throat. “Did you see the paper this morning?”

“Of course. Tokyo is my city, and he is the pinnacle of it.”

“And Dubai is mine. But it is Japan’s kingpin that is trying to takeover Europe, not my uncle,” the man quipped back. 

“You make it sound so nefarious!” she laughed. “Don’t tell me you are afraid of him!” 

His grip around her waist tightened, and his voice deepened somewhat in her ear. “Afraid of Asami Ryuichi? Who in their right mind isn’t?” 

The Japanese socialite glanced back on the newspaper. Just below the title was a photo of the handsome man and black market criminal stepping out of his limo. The caption credited the photo to a Takaba Akihito. “I can think of one or two,” she rolled her eyes. Asami Ryuichi always liked to fuck them young. 

“Don’t talk about him right now.” Lips pressed against her neck’s pearly column. “We will be in Japan soon enough. For now,” hands crested over the hard planes of her stomach, leaving trails of gooseflesh. “Just think of me.”

Thick fingers slipped beneath her lacy boyshorts and curled inward. Pointy hips bucked as her bak arched violently against him. They would deal with Asami when the time came. Until then, they tripped over stacks of financial records, shoved profit margins out of the way, and kicked a sniper riffle out of the way as they tangoed towards the bed. 

“Shit,” he jerked away from her mouth when he stubbed his toe on her suitcase. Damn woman was hot but she was messy. The lid bounced opened, revealing a ratted teddy bear. Mood killer but he knew that the man would recognize it instantly. Rumor had it that he had taken up some sex kitten of a lover. One could almost believe that the arctic asshole had feelings. They would find out soon enough. 

*

It was another day in Tokyo, business as usual.

“Asami!” Akihito kicked his legs wildly. He had been cooking an early lunch, trying to make sure the crime lord ate at least on decent meal before wasting hours embezzling money and shooting in kneecaps. Fuck knew that despite his amazing body, Asami had the worst eating habits known o man. Even Americans ate better than he did. Or so Akihito said, if only to win arguments. 

“You know what that apron does to me,” Asami tossed his lover on the oversized bed. 

The photographer flushed. It was laundry day, which meant that he had literally no real clothing. Since it was just him and Asami in the condo, he was cooking in a tank top and his running shorts, which were admittedly short. “You just interpret everything as a come on.”

“Why come on you, when I can come in you,” Asami loosed his tie before leaning over his lover to lick his cheek. “Feel free to come all over me, kitten.”

“Stop!” Akihito feebly held his hands in front of him. Asami’s hands clamped down on his wrists, and he squirmed. “You sound so gross.”

A thick knee wedged between his legs and rubbed. The photographer’s skin slowly turned pink, his blood boiling like the sun was just beneath his skin. The translucence of that delicate skin offset the steel of Akihito’s soul. The hard and soft of Akihito, with a will so malleable it could be played like a harp, was an intoxicating aphrodisiac. 

“Asami,” he groaned in the back of his throat. 

“Oh yes, so gross,” mirth laced Asami’s voice as Akihito started to hump his leg. “You seem absolutely repulsed by the idea of coming over and over and over again.” Each over was punctuated by the soothing jostling of Asami’s knee. 

The photographer ripped his wrists away from Asami. Grabbing his lapels, he pulled Asami against him. “Kiss me you bastard,” and then he ripped the expensive shirt open. 

Buttons rained in the room, but Akihito barely heard them. Asami had yanked his short shorts off and had fisted his dry cock roughly. Chapped licks unlocked at the burning sensation. Akihito gasped softly and Asami immediately flicked his thumb over the head of his cock. He rubbed the slit, agonizingly slow. The precum slicked the friction, leaving only the burning pleasure that undulated through his body in waves. 

“You have on too many clothes,” Akihito panted as he ran his hands over the chiseled chest. The back of his fingers ghosted over rock hard abs, itching to dive below the hem of his pants. 

“I want,” Asami languidly kissed his chest. “To taste,” he licked the photographer’s chest, starting at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of saliva that ended just above his bellybutton. “You first.”

The phone was ringing. Asami did not seem to care, and neither did Akihito. The crime lord left wet kisses trailing down his chest. A hot tongue swirled around the head and then disappeared. Akihito whined, his hands searching for Asami’s head so he could pin it down. The need to thrust into that hot, wet cavern was all consuming, roiling and undulating. 

The chiming beep seemed to get louder as it rang. The asshole on the other end was persistent. Asami growled lowly when Aki thrust into his mouth. He swallowed the entire erection greedily. He hummed in pleasure, and the vibrations sent jolts of pleasure up the photographers spine. 

The phone continued to ring. 

“Asami,” Aki rolled his head side to side, eyes squeezed shut. 

The phone kept ring. 

Asami swore violently. Grabbing his phone, he snarled viciously. “What?”

“Asami-sama,” Akihito heard Kirishima’s soft voice echo from the speaker. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but a matter has arisen that requires your immediate attention.”

“Deal with whatever fool crossed me! Don’t call me again!” Asami moved to throw the phone across the room when Kirishima’s voice startled him. 

“Ryuichi,” both Asami and Akihito stilled when the secretary used his given name. The photographer slowly sat up, eyebrows crossing as he listened raptly. Asami sat on his knees. The distance muffled Kirishima’s voice, but he could still make some of it out. “Our man from Interpol just called. He said that Mahdi Al Madani’s passport was flagged crossing the Bosnian-Serbian border.”

Asami was off the bed before Akihito could move. He nearly ran to his closet and jerked it open. “Where is he going?”

“We don’t know. Suoh is read to deploy a team to the UAE to intercept him, but it is doubtful that he will surface again. His uncle will certainly give him asylum if he reaches the United Arab Emirates."

“He’s been in London for four years, Kei.” Asami threw the phone onto the nearby settee as he quickly buttoned his shirt. “Why is he moving now?”

“We’re not sure,” Kirishima was careful to keep his voice neutral and his sentences short. He knew that Akihito was listening closely, and would try to piece together just what was happening. He had never heard of anybody named Madani, but he knew that the United Arab Emirates was the third richest country in the world. Whoever it was had to be a major player in the criminal underground. “He had an entourage with him, though. Ajdin is wiring the security footage to us now.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Kirishima,” Asami glanced at his confused lover as he walked out of his bedroom. “I want him alive.”

“Understood, Asami-sama.” Kirishima paused. He knew his boss well enough to anticipate his questions, and he sighed as he answered it before it could be voiced. “No one else in the party was flagged, but Ajdin is checking to see if the passports were forged.”

“That’s what I thought. It seems careless that they are moving so openly now.”

“Suoh is waiting for you in the parking garage,” the faithful secretary said. “I will have a full report ready when you arrive.”

“Ten minutes,” he repeated, and then dropped his cell in his suit pocket. “Kitten, I have to go. Something has come up at work.”

“What do you mean something?” his little lover snarled. The kitten was struggling to pull his pants up, hopping up and down as he tried to get the skintight denim up his legs. “Who is Al Madani?”

“A pest,” cold gold eyes locked on his lover’s face. “Stay inside today. It might not be safe right now.”

“Come on, Asami. Like this Madani guy can hurt you,” Akihito rolled his eyes. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the wall. “And like hell I’m staying inside. You know I’m supposed to meet Mitari to go over the article on Hitachori.” He was a politician who had been sleeping with underage girls. If he did not argue with Mitari, he knew his slimy coworker would somehow con him out of his rightful cut. 

“I don’t have time to argue, Akihito,” Asami pinched the bridge of his nose. He was dangerously close to loosing his perfect control. The photographer noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands grabbed at the air as if looking for a neck to strangle and the tempestuous inferno blazing in his eyes. This Mahdi Al Madani must have done something vile, something unimaginable to make Asami hate him so much. And Akihito had a pretty good imagination. “Stop being so damn stubborn for once and listen to me. Stay inside. It’s for your own good.” 

He slammed the door on his way out, making his photographer jump. Akihito growled when he heard the lock slide into place, sealing him in his penthouse prison. “Please, you bastard,” he muttered under his breath. 

Shoving his body off the wall, Akihito ran back to the bedroom. He pulled a long sleeved shirt and a pullover on before grabbing his phone. Screw Mitari and Hitachori, let the goateed freeloader get the credit for the mundane political scandal. Akihito had just stumbled onto yakuza gold, the criminal rivalry of the century. He would remember reading about some Arab with a name like that. It was time to expose him for what he was––or for whatever he did. 

“It isn’t for Asami,” he swore to himself. He was doing it for his job, and not to help Asami get revenge. “Not for Asami.”

The elevator ride was the longest in his life. The stairs would have been quicker. At least no snobby women glared at him. When he stumbled onto the bustling sidewalk, Akihito glanced around. He would lose whatever tail Asami placed on him, and get to the archives. He was going to take Almundi or Al Maddi or whoever he was down. 

A hand shot out of the crowd to grab his arm. It was strong and bruising. Akihito whipped around to tell at whatever goon Asami hired. No way in hell was he going to go back to the penthouse like a good boy. Hazel eyes locked with coal black ones, and the malicious snarl on the tall man’s face froze him in place. This guy didn’t work for Asami. 

“Don’t make a scene, kid,” he hissed. 

He took a step and was dragging Akihito behind him like a ragdoll. The cliche white van was parked on the side street, door open like a monster’s mouth. Oh shit, Akihito dug his heels into the ground. He was getting taken. It was like Feilong all over again. 

Just another day in Tokyo.


	2. My Only Sunshine

Chapter Two:

Oh hell no.

Hell fucking no.

The stranger was a mountain of muscle and he practically carried Akihito instead of dragging him. “Lemme go!” the photographer flailed. He dug his sneakers into the concrete, and pushed away from the van. Maybe it would have been smarter to push away from his assailant, but the very idea of getting into that van terrorized him. 

“Quiet, brat!” the hulking behemoth snarled. Akihito felt his arm stretching and pulling in ways it was not supposed to. The man’s fingers dug into the tender, pale flesh as a painful warning. “You don’t want to make a scene! Trust me.”

“Help!” Akihito screamed. As if he would take advice from the creepy bozo kidnapping him. “Help me!” He had been pulled around the corner into a small alley. He was so close to the swirling populace. Surely someone could hear him. “HELP!”

“Shut him up, Havi!” a heavily accented voice echoed from the darkness of the van. 

“Shut the fuck up, kid!” Havi backhanded him. Stars reeled around his head and he tasted the cooper blood that oozed from his split lip. Round eyes flitted to the street to see if anyone had heard him. Akihito stumbled as the man pulled him to the car. He could barely see, let alone fight off an attacker. 

“Hey, you!”

“Let the boy go!”

Thank his lucky stars. Someone had heard him screaming. Akihito blinked, trying to stop his ears from ringing. Four guys––no, two if he squinted his eyes and focused on them––rushed into the alley. They were in normal clothes but black guns were drawn. Goons. 

Havi swore and the photographer realized that he had been shouting to his comrade. Too bad he didn’t speak Foreign. 

“Get Takaba!” a man in a pink shirt and sunglasses shouted. He would be Goon One. Goon One fired two warning shots at Havi. The foreigner tucked Akihito’s head into his armpit and started to sprint. Another guy jumped out of the black whole in the van. He had a Halloween mask on his face, Freddy Kruger, and a semiautomatic pistol in his hand. He fired right back at Goon One. 

He could not see a damn thing once Havi buried his head in the sweaty armpit, but Akihito knew that the van had to be close. Goon Two was running up behind them, his footfalls heavy on the pavement. He had to dodge bullets, though, so Akihito could not depend on him. He would have to break Havi’s hold himself. 

Havi was muttering in that foreign language again, and literally lifted the photographer by his arm. There was a loud pop and his vision swan. His scream was muffled by Havi’s armpit, and his mind told him to surrender to the darkness. Oblivion would numb the pain. 

But that mean he would end up in the van, and that was the last place he wanted to be. 

“Takaba-san!” Goon Two must have heard the sickening pop of his shoulder dislocating. 

His arm was useless, and his kicks did not even make Havi stumble. So Aki used his only weapon: he sunk his teeth backed by fifty-nine kilograms into the fleshy underarm. The kidnapper howled and dropped Akihito. 

The photographer landed on his butt. The force jarred his overstretched body, and the nerve splitting pain turned his vision white. 

“Oh shit!” Havi’s partner swore, but Akihito barely heard it over someone’s screams. 

“Havi! Axel!” 

Footsteps and gunshots were all around him, yet he felt the vibrations when something heavy hit the concrete. The gunshots and screams muffled the sounds of the city, but he could only make out the screams. Thankfully, the pressure on his shoulder anchored him to consciousness. Man, he must have bitten Havi hard for him to be carrying on like that. 

“Takaba!” Goon two was calling his name. “Takaba!”

Akihito forced his eyes open and immediately focused on Goon Two. He was wearing a Sponge Bob shirt that Asami would sure have called tacky, but it ensured that Akihito would not spare him a second glance under normal circumstances. The screaming stopped. Holy cow, that had been him the entire time. 

“Wha…” he gasped out. 

The white van had sped away, but made out the prone bodies of Havi and Axel. They weren’t moving. 

“Takaba-san, we need to get you to a hospital,” Goon Two said softly. “Rikotu, call Asami-sama,” he ordered Goon One as he helped Akihito stand. 

The photographer stumbled as he stood, his legs shaky from the agonizing pain. He hurt so much that it made him nauseous. Akihito grabbed his subluxed shoulder reflexively, to steady himself. The world spun, and he fell face forward. 

*

He paced back and forth as they waited for the video to load. Asami Ryuichi was a patient man with an iron fist, but the mere thought of Al Madani made his rage burn. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine how it would feel to have his soft neck quivered under his fingers as he squeezed the bastard’s life out.

Strangulation always brought back fond memories for the crime lord. Before Akihito, he would asphyxiate his partners to relieve the thrill of Kokoro’s death. Watching the life leave her blue eyes always made him cum. 

“Sixty-seconds,” Kirishima reported.

The three men were tense. They gathered in Asami’s office, huddled on the couches as they stared at the flat screen. Kirishima had programmed it to reflect was what on the laptop screen. They waited for visual confirmation that Mahdi Al Madani was moving through Serbia. 

Any moment now. 

Suoh’s hand was clenched around his phone. He would send the ‘Go’ signal to his extraction team the moment they knew it was him. Sausage shaped fingers nearly cramped from the duress, his tendons coiled as tightly as springs to hold his finger just above the send button. 

Any moment. 

The TV dinged when the video upload was complete. Kirishima wasted no time pressing play. Asami’s cigarette fell from his mouth as they watched a group of five men huddle together. They kept their faces down, away from the camera. This was obviously not their first time trying to move undetected, and they had good intel if they could keep their faces away from every camera in the room. There were five different views on the screen, each showing the back and shoulders a different man. There was not even a reflection to showcase a face. He had to admit that he was begrudgingly impressed.

“All men,” Suoh noted needlessly. They searched for Al Madani with one eye and a woman with the other. “She isn’t there.”

“It could be a disguise,” argued Kirishima, though he agreed with his partner. They had to be open to all possibilities. Assumptions made you careless, and carelessness left you vulnerable. He slowed the playback. “We’ve used them when moving delicate cargo.”

“No,” Asami agreed with Suoh as well. “They’re all too tall and broad. She isn’t there.”

Which was strange. Dread coiled in his stomach that they had missed her somehow. It was unusual for Al Madani to move alone, but the possibility that they separated to avoid detection curdled his blood. Unless they had truly separated, and Asami was uninformed. 

One by one, the men moved through the check point. The man who Ajdin had flagged as Mahdi Al Madani was the fourth through. He was middle aged, with salt and pepper hair. He was clean shaven and had a straight nose. The teller asked him the standard questions before scanning and then stamping his passport. It clearly read Mahdi Al Madani. 

“Dammit!” Asami slammed his hand on the glass table. It rattled, knocking over his brandy sniffer. No one moved to clean the mess. 

“No go!” Suoh was shouting into his phone. “Repeat, abort mission! Abort!”

It wasn’t him. 

“False positive,” Kirishima sent a message to Ajdin, so he could update the system. Al Madani had played this card before, sending them on wild goose chases. New software had been developed that detected counterfeit papers, making it increasingly harder for him to send decoys. They were tightening the noose around his neck. It was only a matter of time. 

“Find him!” Asami roared. Grabbing his empty glass, he threw it at the wall. It shattered into crystalline pieces that glittered in the sun. “Check London! The Emirates! Find him and bring him to me!”

“I’ll deploy the team,” Suoh was on his phone again. “They can pick up the imposter and interrogate him off the record before he makes it to the UAE. He will know where Al Madani is.”

“Do it!” Asami barked. “And make sure Interpol flags His––”

“Asami-sama!” Suoh interrupted. He had not even made the call to the extraction team telling them the mission was back on. “An unknown party attempt to kidnap Takaba.”

The crime lord’s eyebrows rose up into his hairline. It was the day for surprises. His two best men stood, awaiting his orders. They could see Dante’s inferno reflect in his golden eyes, and stiffened their backs. It was about to get ugly; Asami Ryuichi was furious. 

“Do we have him?” Asami slipped into his suit jacket so quickly he thought he might have split a seam. 

“Yes. Rikotu and Yamada are taking him to the hospital now.” Suoh opened the office door. His receptionist had been humming to herself as she filed his completed itinerary. She jumped as he stormed past her. 

“Kirishima, stay here and work on Al Madani. Call me if you find anything,” he ordered. 

“Yes, Asami-sama. And I’ll have Iseri-san clear your schedule,” his secretary motioned to his receptionist. Another cog in his criminal and legitimate business operations that he could not live without. 

“Good. Suoh, what the hell happened?” Asami hit the down button on his private elevator so hard the plastic cracked. 

“Two assailants came from an unmarked van and attempted to take Takaba. Our men managed to intervene. Yamada retrieved Takaba, while Rikotu opened fire, wounding one and killing the other. A third unknown gunman killed the injured attacker rather than have us apprehend him,” Suoh rapidly fired off. 

When the doors chimed open, he hit the automatic start on the BMW. Asami opened his own door, preferring to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. “Where are the bodies?”

“In our custody. Keio University Hospital tagged them as John Does,” Suoh sped out of the parking lot. 

Asami took a quick drag off his cigarette. “Send their prints and DNA to Kuroda,” he snapped at Nakamura, the guard sitting beside Suoh. When Kirishima or Suoh could not be with him, Nakamura stood in. He was capable, but not one of Asami’s personal favorites. The crime lord’s mouth was twisted gruesomely, so the goon scampered to comply. He could find out who had attempted to steal his little lover, and Asami would eat his cheeks for breakfast. 

*

Luckily, Iseri had already cleared his schedule for the day. She was aware of his manhunt for Al Madani, and correctly knew that he would want to track his sudden trip across Europe. Nothing had been more important than bringing the nudnik to Japan to answer for his crimes, but then he had to rush to the hospital. Akihito was more important. 

Yamada and Rikotu had kept vigil until he arrived. “Status report,” Asami demanded crisply. 

“Takaba-san had a split lip and a dislocated shoulder. The doctor gave him a mild sedative so that it could be reset easier. He is still conscious, but is easily influenceable.” Rikotu reported. 

“Where is he now?”

“In his room. He has been discharged, but we thought it best to keep him isolated until you arrived.” The guards’ initiative was surprising but not unwelcome. Most would not shit if he did not give the order to. 

“Nakamura, get the car,” he ordered. “Suoh, book a room until we can move to the safe house.”

The condo had been compromised if the attack happened just after Akihito had left it. They had been waiting for him. His enemies knew where he lived, and could target Akihito at any time. Asami often left him unsupervised at the photographer’s request. That would have to change. 

“Akihito,” he opened the door to the private room. His boy was lying supine on the metal bed, fully clothed. His shoulder was in a blue sling, which was tied to his torso. 

“Sammmmmiiiiiii,” his kitten rolled his head tot he side. “I can’h seew ewe.” It sounded like he was chewing on cotton balls. 

“I’m right here, kid,” the crime lord said with surprising tenderness. He slid his hand behind Akihito’s shoulders and slowly helped him sit up. Hazel eyes lit up like the sun after dawn, and a white grin split his face. A finger playfully poked at his chest. Asami winced as Akihito’s mouth curled in pain from the movement. The loopy photographer obviously forgot that he had injured his shoulder. The medication helped numb him, but did not kill the pain entirely.

“Can you walk?” Asami watched Akihito haphazardly swing his legs over the side of the bed. 

“You betcha,” the photographer looked so pleased with himself when his feet found the floor. “Legs go round and round, like a school bus wheels.” He sang the jumbled up song off key. 

“Asami-sama,” a doctor in a white coat bowed as he walked in. 

“What is his prognosis?” Asami tried to keep his voice even, to hide his exasperation. The drugged up photographer was giggling at nothing as his head swayed back and forth. The anesthesia kept his muscles lax, so he could barely keep his neck straight. 

“A dislocated shoulder can take up to sixteen weeks to heal. He will have to wear the sling for the first several weeks. After that, we can adjust it based on how quickly he is healing. He has been given a pain prescription to help him cope, but it will make him light headed. He cannot make any important decisions or drive after taking a pill.”

“Akihito, stop.” Asami caught the photographer’s hands, which were clapping at thin air. It was as if he saw imaginary bubbles that he felt compelled to pop. “What about home care?”

The doctor chuckled. “He needs to give the shoulder some time to heal. It will be tender for a while. No heavy lifting. Other than that, he can go about his normal life.”

That was good. The ramifications could have been much worse. The kid had always been a fast healer, and Asami was confident that he would bounce back quickly. “If you have any questions, feel free to call the hospital or talk to your primary care physician. A dislocated shoulder is a fairly tame injury, so they can answer any questions for you,” the doctor continued on. 

“Nothing was broken?” he clarified. He had to be sure. 

“Nope. The force of the impact only dislocated his shoulder. Shattered joints are not uncommon for falls, especially down the stairs. Takaba-san was incredibly lucky.”

So that was the cover story. He had not thought to inquire about it, but assumed that his competent men would take care of it. And he was right. 

“A lucky fucky ducky,” Akihito chirped. 

The doctor graciously smiled. “He is free to go. Have a nice day,” and he quickly withdrew to leave the crime lord to deal with the inebriated photographer. 

“Can you walk?” Asami pulled him to his feet. 

Akihito immediately slumped forward. His cheek was smashed against Asami’s chest and when he shook his head, it mimicked the way he would nuzzle him after sex. “Yuupp,” he slurred. “My foots work. Kness up. Fet go forward.”

“Akihito,” Asami tried to steady him without pressing on his injured shoulder. “I need you to focus.”

“So sweepy,” Akihito kissed the place just above his heart. “Whaddid the asshowe give me that makes my face feew tingwy?” Taking his good hand, he slapped his cheek lightly and then grinned when he felt nothing. Asami had to grab his hand before he could hit himself harder.

Asami swore. “Yamada! Get a wheel chair!”

“Yes sir,” the dutiful man trotted off to the nurse’s station. 

“I can wawk, Asami!” Akihito pushed away from the yakuza with his good arm. He swayed for a moment, but his feet held steady beneath him. “You hafta show me the way out, though. It’z wike a maze in here!” He laughed loudly at his own joke. 

And then toppled backwards, butt first onto the bed. 

“Hold still, kid.” Asami wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled Akihito back up with a sigh. “You definitely need the wheelchair.”

Yamada strolled in, pushing a wheelchair. Akihito let Asami deposit him in it without a fuss. He seemed more interested in turning his arm into a dolphin, having it crest above and below the imaginary waves as the body guard pushed him down the hallway. Occasionally, he would make what Asami could only assume was a porpoise noise and then he would chuckle. Suoh said nothing, but Asami saw the mirth twitching at the corners of his lips. If it had not been such a piss poor day, he would have found his lover’s antics extremely amusing. 

It was not until they were settled into the Hibiya suite at the Peninsula Tokyo and he had tucked Akihito into bed that he received the call from Kirishima. Suoh and Nakamura remained in the drawing room, a laptop open so that he could read over the reports. So far, nothing was known about the attempted kidnappers, but both Yamada and Rikotu both reported the incident to Suoh with military thoroughness. The DNA and prints had turned up no leads, but he was still hopeful. 

“Asami-sama,” Kirishima said after he picked up on the second ring. “We found Al Madani. He is still in London, and has no flights scheduled to leave. The decoy must have been to test our response.”

“Do you have visual confirmation?” he demanded. Al Madani was smart, and Asami felt that this was more than a test of their response. That was not his M.O. He wanted them watching the obvious means of travel, always on their toes, so he could sneak under the radar. “Or is this another decoy?” 

But Asami had no idea where Abbas Al Madani’s nephew would go. Abu Dhabi was the most likely place because that was where the family lived. The Al Madani’s ran their operations out of Dubai, so it was very possible that he would head there as well. Or he could be going to America, for all they knew. Asami learned long ago that everyone was deceptive. What he expected Al Madani to do would be the last thing he actually did. 

“Yes. Our man sent a video of him. He was at the West End. Sir Ian McKellen was performing,” Kirishima reported. 

She never missed a performance. Not since the Lord of the Rings.

“Was he alone?” He asked the question before he had even realized that he had thought it. It hung heavy in the air, and Asami held his breath until Kirishima answered. 

“No.” 

“Flag both of their passports. They always travel together,” he ordered. “I want him both in Japan by the end of the week.” Asami ended the call. Suoh said nothing, but he oozed skepticism. Perhaps he was not in the right mind to make such demands: Al Madani had slipped through his fingers and Akihito was nearly abducted and then injured. He always got what he wanted, though, and right now, Asami wanted Al Madani’s head on a platter. He would deal with the fallout afterwards. 

*

“Come on, sweetheart,” she cooed. Blowing kisses at Asimov, she tossed another treat into the big carrier. “Come on Assie.” 

“You know, you probably should not call him that,” Mahdi said from the doorway. Dropping his keys on the counter, he left the luggage rack by the door. “The car is ready.”

“Everybody I know gets a nickname,” she pouted. The beautiful dog sat on its haunches, just out reach of her fingertips and she was really too lazy to try to move. His bubblegum tongue hung sloppily out of his mouth as he panted in happiness, his tail wagging quickly on the wooden floor. “Besides, Asimov is a mouthful.”

“You named him,” reminded Mahdi with a chuckle. 

“Well, I was fourteen and stupid. I thought that The Caves of Steel was the coolest thing to ever hit bookshelves,” she quipped. Snapping her fingers, she motioned to the treat laying in on the plushy dog bed. “Go get it, baby!”

“I know,” he scratched behind Asimov’s floppy ears. “You’ve told me a hundred times.”

“He is my baby, and I like to talk about him,” she looked up at Mahdi through long lashes. “I really wish he would be a good doggie like his sister. She is also so easy to crate.”

“Because she weighs eight pounds and you can lift her.” They both looked at Ruger who was passed out in her mini doggie carrier. “She’s also stupid,”

True, Ruger was a bit of a dumb blonde. She would eat anything, even cheese wrapped around a sleeping pill. She always gave the dogs something vet prescribed so they would sleep on the plane and not be scared. They went wherever she did. 

“Come on, boy.” Grabbing Asimov by his blue collar, Mahdi led him into the cage. “I still don’t see why we are taking the dogs to Japan.”

“I don’t know how long we will be, and I am not taking them to a kennel,” she latched the cage. Mahdi nodded to a suited goon, and two of them lifted the cages onto the luggage cart. It was out of the question to have someone housesit, even a trusted employee. There were too many things hidden in the nooks and crannies that could condemn either one of them. 

“You are such a softie,” Mahdi wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight against him. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head. 

“But you love me,” she simpered. He grabbed her Louis Vuitton bag and followed her out the door. He loved watched her tight ass bounce in the obscenely tight leather pants. 

“I really do,” he agreed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The eating you enemy's cheeks is a reference to Hannibal Lecter, aka Hannibal the Cannibal. He is one of the best bad asses and scariest characters ever created. So I had to throw a little bit of him into Asami.


	3. You Make Me Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is completely un-beta'd. I have no beta. If someone would like to beta, for this and/or Hyacinthus Bloomed, I would love you forever!
> 
> Do I sound desperate haha? Oops.
> 
> Also, the scene the end is probably my favorite one I have ever written. The emotional unloading––I don't know, it just hit me where it hurts.

Chapter Three:

Two weeks had passed since the attempted kidnapping, and Akihito was chaffing in his prison. Asami refused to let him leave the house, except for work, and if he did, a goon was always with him. It made Akihito uneasy that Asami had no idea who was after him. 

“What about Al Mundi, or whatever his name was?” he postulated one night after a zombie movie marathon. Watching others die always made him contemplate his own mortality. “He made you freak out a few weeks ago.”

“It wasn’t him,” Asami sounded so sure that Akihito reflexively balked in surprise. 

He had been lying beside the crime lord in bed, his head tucked onto Asami’s shoulder. “What? How can you be so sure?” he cried, shoving himself up with his good arm to stare into his lover’s golden eyes. 

“The Al Madanis have nothing to gain from taking you,” Asami was surprisingly forthcoming. He, too, ruminated on the photographer’s demise. He always told Akihito more if he thought it would help keep him safe. “Besides, Mahdi is not interested in kidnapping you.”

“He’d be the first,” muttered Aki as he nestled back into his preferred sleeping position. 

Asami tightened his grip on his waist. “The family isn’t above extortion,” he chuckled darkly. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of them. But they do not need you for that.”

Aki stilled. “What do you mean?” The family would have to have some sort of hold over Asami to blackmail him. 

The crime lord pulled his face up gruffly, and kissed all the thought out of him. There were some things that Akihito did not need to know, so Asami silenced him the only way he knew how: by fucking him until he passed out. He did not want Akihito to even be aware that the Al Madanis existed, especially if they were not a threat to Asami’s empire. No, Mahdi Al Madani was different score to settle entirely. 

Besides, Mahdi and entourage were in Sicily on vacation. The Oxford third term was over, so they had taken some time to relax. Kirishima posited that the decoy had not been for him, but for a third party. Asami scoured the underworld for any threat, but all was quiet. No one was targeting them. The enigma kept him up long after his kitten fell asleep. 

*

Due to his injured shoulder, Akihito had to put investigative journalism on the back burner. He could barely lift his heavy cameras, let alone take clear shots. He was stuck with modeling gigs, and advertisements where he could use a tripod. Any time he went to work, he had an escort. Akihito thought he might die from the suffocation. 

“Just let me run into the store, and pick up some stuff for dinner,” he argued with his guard. Today’s model was named Madarame, and he was a stickler for Asami’s rules. Then again, only Suoh and Kirishima seemed capable of independent thought.

“Asami-sama instructed me to see you home directly after work,” Madarame replied evenly. They both knew Akihito’s temper tantrum was nothing compared to Asami’s wrath. 

“Well then, call your precious Asami-sama, and tell him that unless you stop, we will be eating prepackaged Ramen noodles again.”

“Asami-sama,” Madarame was polite enough to at least call Asami. Yesterday’s model refused to speak to the photographer. 

“Tell him I will jump out of this car if you don’t stop!” Akihito threatened loudly. Asami must have heard, and known that Akihito was serious, for minutes later, they were stopping at the market just around the corner from the safe house. Asami refused to return to the condo until he knew it was secure. Akihito did not argue. If it worried the yakuza enough to have them move across Shinjuku, then the anonymous threat must have been serious.

“You coming in?” he asked Madarame as he unbuckled his seatbelt. He had to move slower than normal because of his shoulder, and it agitated him. He was used to be a quick healer, so the fact that he was recuperating slowly drove him bonkers. Life was hellish right now. 

“Of course,” Madarame turned off the ignition. “Give me just a moment, and I will open your door.”

“I’m not an invalid!” snapped the photographer waspishly. “I can do it myself!” He kicked the door open extra hard just to show that he could. Akihito refused to be treated like he was made of glass. 

“I never said you were, Takaba-san,” Madarame shut the door before he could. “I open the door for Asami-sama as well.”

Yeah, but Asami was a pretentious bastard who expected you to shine his shoes with your tongue. That was not Akihito’s style. 

The photographer took his time shopping. It was nice to be out and about, even if he did have a goon breathing down his neck. Madarame let Aki go at his own pace. Since Asami had given the all clear, he said nothing, nor did he look at his watch to check the time. Perhaps he thought Akihito’s injury made him move slower, and the twenty-four year old did nothing to change that assumption. He would use his infirmaries to his advantage for once. They even got to wait for the time sale. 

Outside, they loaded the bags into the trunk of the car. Akihito had bought more than he intended to, but it was all stuff they needed. Plus, fashion photography paid better than journalism. 

A loud woof was the only warning he got before a heavy dog bound up to him. It jumped up onto Akihito, throwing its paws up to his shoulders as it gleefully barked. The momentum knocked him to the ground. 

“Takaba-san!” Madarame was lifting him off the ground before he could process what had happened. 

“Oh my God!” a girl ran up to them. “I am so sorry!” She helped pull Aki up, though Madarame did most of the heavy lifting. “He’s strong, and his leash managed to slip out of my fingers! Are you okay?”

The carton of eggs he had been holding had shattered all over his chest. Yolks dribbled onto the pavement as clear goop clung to his limbs like a spider’s web. Madarame’s eyes were furrowed and he opened his frowning mouth to undoubtedly say something scathing, but Akihito cut him off. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He managed to land on his butt. There would be a decent sized bruise, but he thankfully had spared his shoulder. 

“I am so so so sorry!” she grabbed ahold of the silver pit bull as it moved to jump into the trunk to investigate the groceries. “I’ll pay for your dry cleaning! And get you more eggs!”

The dog looked like it weighed more than she did. Its muscular haunches rippled as it struggled to get to the food, and she was as small as a high schooler. “It’s all right,” he tried to keep his voice light. He only wearing his favorite shirt. “They’re just clothes.”

“I’m so sorry,” she kept repeating. “He smelled the bacon. He’s been spoiled, so he thinks that any meat is a treat for him. Asimov sit!”

The pit bull immediately sat but he looked at Akihito with sad puppy eyes and whined. 

“Asimov, what a strange name.” It felt heavy and awkward on his tongue. “Can I pet him?” the photographer held his hand out hesitantly. 

A wide smile split her face. “Of course!” she exclaimed. “He loves attention. Don’t you, good boy?” she scratched under his chin. 

Asimov’s tail thumped loudly as Akihito pet his head. “I always wanted a dog,” he lamented to the girl. “It never worked out, though.”

“They are a handful,” the girl told him. “Trust me.”

He could believe it, especially if the dog weighed more than the owner, and was stronger too. “I’ll bet,” he laughed. Asimov woofed loudly before jumping up on Akihito again. At least he saw it coming this time, giving the chance to brace for the impact. The big paws hit his torso hard, though and he hissed in pain. The girl did not notice, but Madarame did. He looked like he was itching to step in and force Akihito back to the safe house. 

“Hey!” Akihito laughed when the dog lapped up an egg yolk. Madarame stilled. It was good to hear the boy laugh again, and he supposed that nothing terrible could happen as long as he was there. 

“Asimov, stop!” the girl ordered, but laughter laced her commands. Akihito could tell that she was not too upset with her pup. 

The dog whined dolefully but dropped down to all fours. 

“You’ve got him well trained,” Akihito scratched behind his ears, and the puppy instantly perked up. 

“Yeah,” she chuckled sardonically. “I travel a lot, so always has to be on his best behavior.”

“I’m Takaba Akihito by the way,” he added as a second thought. He had no idea who this girl was, and by the way Asimov wagged his tail, Akihito thought he might be making a new friend. It was only polite to exchange names. “And the sourpuss is Madarame.”

She firmly shook his hand. “Hisana. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Akihito. You too,” the photographer thought Hisana might have winked at his bodyguard but he could not be sure. She pushed her fashionably large sunglasses farther up her nose. 

Madarame balked in surprise that Hisana dared address Akihito with such familiarity, and it made Hisana chuckle nervously. “Sorry,” that seemed to be her favorite word. “I have spent the past several years in Europe. I haven’t quite made the switch mentally to surnames yet.”

“It’s okay, Hisana-chan!” Akihito refused to let a prude like Madarame ruin his chance at a new friend. A cute one. Who might be single. And Aki had single friends. “You can call me Akihito.”

She had a beautiful smile. “Please, Akihito, let me buy you some more eggs and clean your shirt. It’s the least I can do for a new friend.”

Yup, friends. He liked where this was going. “It really is no trouble,” the photographer protested. “I can was them when I get home. My apartment has a killer laundry room.”

“Then I insist on the eggs,” Hisana linked her arm through his good one. “Asimov, up,” she clicked her tongue. The well trained dog was on his feet, calmly standing by her side. 

“Takaba-san!” Madarame protested. 

“Can you finish loading the car, please? I’ll be back in just a moment,” he lead Hisana away before the goon could stop him. He was not going to let that bastard or his subordinates stop him from living his life. The voice in his mind reminded him that someone was out to get him, and that Asami was just trying to protect him. 

But smiling Hisana who chatted aimlessly with him was not the culprit. He suspected that if she forsook her high heels, she would not even be 150 centimeters tall. Asimov was a picture perfect puppy dog as they walked to the eggs: he did not bark, or whine, or chase after any more bacon. 

“So how long have you been back in Japan?” he asked conversationally. 

Hisana grabbed a pack of raw bacon along with the eggs. She was right; that dog was spoiled. “Two days. And it’s crazy. I thought it would be this huge homecoming, but all of my friends have moved away or gotten married. My own family doesn’t seem to care that I’m home!” Her laugh was self deprecating. “I guess that is what I get for being gone for so long.”

That sounded awful. Akihito knew he could be crushed if his parents, Takato and, Kou refused to speak to him because he went traveling. And Asami––he did not want to even think about how his lover would react. “Well, now that you are back, I am sure they will warm up to you,” Akihito tried to sound hopeful. After all, there was no way her family could stay angry forever. 

“I’m not here for long,” the girl fished out her credit card. They had arrived at the check out when Akihito was not paying attention. “I go to Oxford. I’m only here for my dad’s birthday.”

“And your parents still don’t want to talk to you?” he gasped. His mom and dad would have been glued to his side if he was only in the country a few weeks out of the year. Akihito could not imagine anyone being so cold to their children!

She shrugged. “They are busy, I guess.”

Hisana did not sounded devastated, and the photographer felt his heart break. Luckily, he had the perfect plan to cheer her up. “I think we need to celebrate while you are here,” he declared. Hisana tried to carry the bags out of the store, but he waved her away. He could still do something useful. 

“Huh?”

He babbled on, his plan coming to fruition before his eyes. “A group of my friends are going out this Friday to Club Peek. You should come.”

“Oh, no! I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Hisana vehemently shook her head. Asimov’s blue eyes locked on the package of bacon. His head bobbed in sync with Hisana’s vigorous ‘no’s.

“You are my friend, too,” Akihito wrote his number on the corner of the paper bag. “So you have to come. You’ll love the guys. We are dorky, but a lot of fun.”

Hisana gently accepted the number. “Are you sure?”

“Definitely,” he grinned with such exuberance that it made her smile as well. 

“Then it’s a date,” Hisana stored his number in her iPhone. “I’ll see you Friday.”

“Awesome,” Madarame practically shoved Akihito into the back seat of the BMW. “Bye, Hisana!”

She waved until the car pulled out of the parking lot and Asimov was begging for bacon. Madarame glanced back in the mirror. The girl was furiously typing in her phone. A moment later, Takaba’s phone buzzed. “Oh yeah, baby,” he looked pleased with himself as he mumbled under his breath. 

Operation: Get Kou a Girlfriend was underway. Hisana was hot, and Kou liked dogs. It was perfect. Now, he needed to convince Asami that it was a good idea for him to go to the club with the guys. 

“No,” the finality in Asami’s voice reverberated in Akihito’s bones. 

“I’ve been good!” he protested. “I have done what you wanted without complaining.” For the most part. “I haven’t lost any of the tails––” because he was convinced that there more goons following him incognito. “I need a little bit of freedom!”

“We still don’t know who was targeting you,” the crime lord reminded him. “They could strike again at any time.”

“That’s part of life! Anything can happen at any moment!” Okay, so maybe not the best strategy when trying to reason with a criminal. Asami’s golden eyes glinted as he conjured a thousand different scenarios where Akihito was kidnapped. It forced the photographer to back peddle and come up with a better argument. “It is just a club with some friends, Asami,” and the hot girl he was hoping would do Kou. 

“A club that I don’t own, a club where I can’t control what happens,” his lover retorted. 

Well duh. If he was going out, Akihito not want Asami hovering over shoulder. He needed a night to himself, where he could forget that there was a bounty on his head. Asami’s good intentions were slowly stifling his soul. “Please, Asami! I need some freedom, something to remind me that there is life out there. My life.”

Asami could see it in his lover’s eyes. Akihito needed a taste of liberation to tide him over until the danger had passed. Not that it would ever be truly safe. His little photographer was a beacon for trouble. Even if Asami was out of the picture or Akihito stayed hidden in the penthouse until long after they both were dead, danger would find him. The world lusted after beauty and innocence; his boy was the epitome of purity and everyone wanted a taste. 

“You can even send people with me! Or come yourself,” pushed the photographer. Asami was cracking, Akihito could see it. He was not sure why going out was suddenly so important, but Aki knew he need to just like he needed to breathe. 

Keeping his boy locked up forever was ultimately the safest thing for him, even more so than Asami abandoning him. The journalist would rot in a cage, waste away until he was nothing but a shell of his soul. It would be foolish to destroy his very essence under the guise of protection. It was not the body that had claimed Asami, but Akihito’s soul. And it needed freedom like flowers needed the sun. 

“My beautiful boy,” Asami pulled the photographer flush against him. He stroked his back soothingly, his thumb running along his spine the way one might soothe a choleric babe. Akihito was tense, waiting for the verdict. “Fearless in the face of danger,” Asami would do whatever it took to keep that fire burning, to keep the spark in Akihito alive. “It was never my intent to cage you. Of course you can go with your friends.”

Akihito’s shoulders sagged and the heavy fear fell away. His thin arms wrapped around Asami. As hands fisted his silk shirt, the crime lord felt his lover’s tears wetting his front. “Thank you,” his voice was hoarse. 

Asami had to swallow the lump in his throat as the boy clung to him desperately. His own arms tightened, pulling Akihito so close to him that he thought their hearts were synchronized. As always, Asami’s first instinct was smirks and sarcasm, but he repressed it. That was not what he precious Akihito needed. No, the photographer needed to be soothed, to be shown how cherished and desired he was. Asami Ryuichi had never denied Akihito anything, and he would be damned if he started now. 

Akihito let Asami lift his chin up with on finger. The gold eyes that set his body and heart on fire were scintillating with words that the yakuza had never learned. Try as he might, romance was not synonymous with Asami Ryuichi, but he could reassure the photographer that their relationship was not just carnal. 

Tonight, he would make love to Akihito. The dance of their bodies would do the talking. 

Asami tentatively pressed his lis against Aki’s. He could taste the salt of his relieved tears. Akihito moved his lips first, pressing into the kiss. Gentle tugs coaxed Asami’s mouth open. Akihito became the aggressor, his tongue running figure-eights around the inside of Asami’s mouth. It was glorious agony, and Asami lost himself in the sensuality of the boy. 

His boy showed love better than Asami could ever hope to understand. Fingers calloused from the heavy camera and harrowing escapes slipped under the hem of his shirt to rub tantalizing circles in the hollow of his back. Asami shivered as those gentle pads trailed around his hips and down his Adonis belt. The heat that followed after his lover’s touch was volcanic. 

He had to be tender when undressing Akihito, something he was not used to. It had been two weeks since they had fucked, and though Asami greatly enjoyed fellatio (which his lover had become quite skilled at), there was just something about a hard rut. Akihito’s shoulder was still injured, and though he was on the mend, Asami would not risk further injury. 

“So beautiful,” Asami rubbed his heavy hands all over the smooth planes of Akihito’s chest. 

“Asami––” Akihtio flushed and his hazel eyes dropped to the side. 

The crime lord knew the problem: his shoulder did not ache while it was supported by the sling. The photographer was afraid that the blatant reminder of his malady would be a turn off. “Hold still,” his voice dropped several decibels. 

Gooseflesh rose all over Aki’s skin as Asami tenderly secured the sling. He was not used to such loving caresses, and his hair stood on end. But he understood what the crime lord was trying to say. Tonight was not about the fuck; that was just the language used to show the commitment, the bond, the love that they felt. It was proof that the want was mutual. 

Asami kissed him again. One hand cupped his face, locking him in place while he other unbuckled his belt. Nimble fingers quickly unbuttoned his jeans and slid under the waistband. He grabbed the photographer’s hard organ, and stroked upwards. His pace was tantalizing. He would swipe his thumb over the leaking head, and then descend into the dark depths of his pants until he reached the base. Asami would give a few quick tugs up the shaft until his lover was shaking against him, desperate for the lube of his own precum. 

“Ahh…Ryu––” Akihito pulled back. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut as he panted, anchored only to the world by sensation. 

Asami’s cock was so hard he thought it was going to burst through his pants. He crushed the boy’s head so tightly that Akihito whimpered. Their lips were crushed together, and Akihito was unable to move as Asami demanded, “Again.”

Aki could only grunt. His good hand fumbled at Asami’s belt; the other clenched and unclenched with the need to touch any part of his lover.

“My name,” Asami’s pulls were harsher, wringing more aching pleasure out of him. “That’s all I want you to say tonight.”

Akihito had never thought that Asami would allow him to. Ryuichi meant that this was for real, that it was something worth their lives. Not once did Akihito dare to think that Asami wanted more than a fuck buddy. 

Until now…

“Ryu,” Akihito’s little pink tongue thrust into his mouth. 

Asami groaned––actually groaned into his love’s embrace. Akihito managed to push his Italian cut pants down his hips, freeing his prize. It had always been too big for Akihito to wrap his hand around, but he lovingly touched what he could. The rock hard cock was sticky. Asami had come when Akihito called his name. 

He might have been embarrassed. He had never lost control like that, but the photographer helped him save face. Pulling away, he stepped out of his jeans and rubbed his spunk covered hand over the tip of his own overly sensitive cock. Akihito turned to the bed. He spread his legs, vulgarly displaying his twitching asshole and dripping cock, his face pressed onto the edge of the bed. He ran his semen covered hand up and down the cleft of his cheeks. 

Without any hesitation, he shoved two fingers deep inside him. Akihito choked out a faint “Ryuichi!” as he moved his fingers in and out. God, it had been too long. He was tight, so fucking tight, and his own fingers were making him see stars. 

Asami ran a finger down his spine, but Akihito did not stop moving his fingers. He could hear Asami’s breath coming in snorts, and the photographer reveled in his show. He knew that his lover was aching just badly, that they both were slowly going crazy. 

“Gah!” Asami shoved his middle finger into Akihito’s ass as well. He fucked him out of sync with Aki’s fingers. The phantasmagorical sensations made his toes curl. It must been what double penetration would feel like, but on a smaller scale. 

He came, his back arching as his cum shot all over the floor. Asami kept finger fucking him, added a second finger. They ghosted over his prostate, never touching but teasing. Aki was hard again almost instantly. 

“Ryu,” he moaned feverishly. 

“That’s right, my beauty,” Asami scissored him open wide. Akihito’s fingers had long since fallen away to grip at the edge of the bed. “Sing for me.”

“Please,” the boy panted, spittle cling to the corner of his chapped his lips. “Ryu, I need you.”

Tormenting the boy was always as good as the fuck, but Asami was so hard that he did not want to deny himself any longer. He shoved his fat dick into Akihito’s irresistibly tight channel, their mixed spend easing his way in. “Aah!” he breathed through his nose. He was fully seated in the photographer. 

Akihito’s face rubbed against the soft comforter. “Ryu!” he clenched tight on the crime lord. The burning stretch was accompanied by the amorphous pleasure-pain. The world was spinning. “Oh God!”

The yakuza chuckled. He lifted Akihito off the bed but kept him hinged at the waist. This way, the young boy’s hips absorbed his lover’s thrusts, and his shoulder stayed immobile. “I am your god, Akihito. Your life. Your everything. Call for me!”

He thrust up hard into the boy. “Ryu!” Akihito screamed. His body thrashed against Asami’s iron hold, as he brutally impaled him. He was relentless, pounding into Akihito with such ferocity that he was coming so hard that he forgot his name. 

Asami fucked him through that orgasm, biting his neck possessively while the thick cream covered his chest. When Akihito finally came off his high, he reached behind him to fist his hand into Asami’s black hair. He jerked on it, which made the crime lord hiss in pain. Aki did not care. His every nerve had come alive. He felt the cool current from the air conditioning, the finite hairs on Asami’s skin that tickled his, and the glorious electricity that coursed through is blood with every thrust. All the while, Asami layered feather light kisses on his neck and shoulder. The photographer was coming undone. 

This was more than sex, more than fulfilling base desires. Ryu poured his ardor into every thrust and Aki new only one way to repay such devotion.

“Ryu!” his voice was garble, so soft that he was not sure if he spoke. Asami grinned into his neck. He always smiled when Akihito called his name. “I love you.”

Asami choked. He fell slightly forward, stumbling but never endangering his lover. The sudden confession surprised him, and his vision exploded as the knotted coil in his stomach burst. With a final thrust, he spilt into Akihito. His lover’s ass sucked at his cock, greedily drinking every drop. 

Akihito always came from the feeling of Asami releasing. The burning cum deep in his core marked him permanently as Asami’s, and he privately loved the idea of belonging to the crime lord. 

“I do, you know,” the photographer panted heavily, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat. He could feel Asami’s labored breath behind him, as the man struggled with the sudden turn of events. ‘I love you.”

God or man, a place in Asami Ryuichi broke. He pulled out of his little lover, who’s eyes were already falling shut. He was still injured and needed to rest. Asami checked the beast inside of his as he lay the boy in bed. He could repay that life-altering confession in the morning. Akihito had sealed his fate with those words. There would be no escape from this. He had given himself willingly to Asami, and they would be damned together for all eternity. He would protect the new addition to his family––his life partner––with his entire arsenal. 

It was time to find the fools who targeted the invaluable man, and erase them. No one touched what Asami Ryuichi loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drama and the action is going to start picking up in the next chapter. I'll probably write some for Hyacinthus Bloomed before I write it, though. 
> 
> So I have to know, has anybody figured out what is going on yet? I mean, in terms of Mahdi Al Madani? I am leaving little hints about it, but I don't know if I actually can write red herrings and suspense. So I guess I just want to know if anybody thinks they have figured it out yet!


	4. When Skies are Gray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I will post that is unbeta'd. The wonderful Miyanoai has offered to beta for me! Thanks a million, always!!!

Chapter Four:

Life throbbed under the black lights of Club Peek. Sweaty bodies mashed together, hearts pulsed as one, as they ebbed and flowed like a current. Under the strobe lights and the black lights, they were one body, a mindless animal in heat. Akihito was in the epicenter of the swirling storm. Bodies that he did not know where plastered to his, sweat and saliva mixing with the glitter that rained from the ceiling. Everything about Club Peek oozed sensuality, and Asami would be there soon. 

He agreed to let his precious kitten out of his sight for a few hours in exchange for three body guards stationed at the club’s entrances. There were probably several undercover goons as well, all watching him until Asami could finally arrive. Akihito did not care. His heart was racing, his skin was on fire and the alcohol was free flowing. He felt alive. 

“Dude!” Kou laughed as he threw an arm over Akihito’s shoulders. “This is awesome!”

And it was. He had never been to a themed club before, but Peek took it beyond a Halloween party. It was as if they were in a fantasy manga. “I know!” he laughed. “It’s insane!”

They had to shout to hear each other over the thudding music. “How did you even get the tickets?” the brunette wanted to know. “Rinka said they’ve has been sold out since it opened!”

Rinka was Takato’s wife. She was a little older than the blonde, but levelheaded enough to put up with all three of them. She would joke, calling Aki and Kou her nephews. Said married couple was an indistinguishable lump of flesh just meters away. Arms intertwined, their tongues slithered like snakes as they writhed together. They were trying to get pregnant, and any chance to jazz up their sex life was welcomed. Akihito knew that they were struggling; Rinka was taking some kind of pill that cost a small fortune. The photographer tried to stay far away from the couple. For all he knew, some idiot would report rumors about a threesome to his overprotective lover.

“Asami said that that was just a rumor!” he shrugged, careful not to jostle the woman who looked like a guy behind him. Scarcity sold, after all. If the club pretended that no one could get in, everyone would want to go. The marketing ploy seemed to be paying off; Akihito could barely find Yoshida in the crowd, and he had been humping some guy who looked like a wall of muscle.

Kou shouted something but the photographer could not hear him over the pounding base. He finished off the screwdriver in his goblet, and a server in a nude leotard with chains draped artfully over her quickly refilled it. She flirtatiously batted her lashes as penetrating eyes raked up and down his body. Kou leapt to grab ahold of her, but she deftly danced back, avoiding his grasp as if she barely noticed it, and offered another man her attention. 

Kou looked defeated. “Cheer up,” Aki scanned the room. “Hisana will be here soon.”

“With my luck tonight, even she will reject me,” Kou muttered under his breath. The boys left the dance floor for their VIP booth. Asami had made a call to the club’s owner, and he had been more than happy to reserve a small space for their party. Especially if Asami Ryuichi was going to make an appearance. “How will we even find her?” he exclaimed. It was a somewhat quieter at the table, which was on a raised platform. They could see most of the dance floor from their spot. 

Akihito checked his phone again. He had texted Hisana, letting her know that they had arrived at Club Peek. So far, no response. “You’ll know when she gets here!”

“Really?” Kou gestured to the undulating swarm. “I can’t see Rinka, let alone some girl I don’t even know!” 

And he was not exaggerating. Club Peek was a new club, but its popularity was soaring. Unlike Sion, which catered to an exclusive clientele, Club Peek was a phantasmagorical experience based on fantasy. Each night had a different theme, meaning patrons had to reserve their spots weeks in advance. Club employees were called hosts that offered “peekaboos” into your wildest dreams.

Tonight’s theme was Arabian Nights. Tulles of indigo, teal, and lavender hung from the ceiling, studded with glistening gems, and lights. The employees were dressed in period pieces, each more skimpy that the next. One poor guy looked like he had a loincloth and some gold chains on, and nothing else. They served drinks while referring to their guests as ‘Master’ and ‘Mistress’. Finger food was everywhere, all alcohol was served from faux gold goblets, and there were pillows galore. Some were scattered around the rim of the dance floor; others lined the booths of the VIP section. They could lounge on the floor like sultans, and watch the dancers move. The entire place reeked of sinful decadence, of life sans restraints and the possibilities of youth. 

Tokyo loved it.

“You’ll just know,” Akihito promised, though he too thought it would be impossible to spot the girl in the crowd. This was Japan, and every girl made sure she was dressed to the nines before stepping onto the street. They all wore heels and skimpy outfits of silk and lace. Undoubtedly Hisana would blend in. Hopefully, she would text him to say she was there. 

“Holy shit! Look at the tits on her!” Kou slapped Akihito’s back. The photographer winced but looked to the faceless crowd. All boobs looked the same to him, but he searched obligatorily for them. And could not find them. 

“Oh yeah,” he agreed just to say something. “They’re nice.”

“You don’t even know which set I’m talking about,” Kou rolled his eyes. 

“I trust you,” Aki chuckled. Another waitress brought them a sushi platter. This time, Kou did not spare her a second glance. 

“Do you have any pictures of her?” he tried to grab the photographer’s phone. Akihito was starting to check it obsessively. The niggling fear that she might stand them up was worming its way into his stomach. He had already gotten Kou’s hopes up, and he did not want them to come crashing down. His friend was striking out lately, and he did not need this impromptu omiai to go crashing down in flames. 

“No!” Akihito laughed while pushing his eager and grabby friend away. “I only met her once!”

“But you’re a photographer!” Kou pouted. “You’re supposed to take pictures of people.”

“I’m not a creeper,” argued the boy. “I don’t just take pictures of random people on the street!”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Kou rolled his eyes. 

His phone buzzed, and Akihito checked it quickly before Kou could notice. It was Hisana, and thankfully, she had arrived. Now came the hard part: finding her. Club Peek was not a huge place, but it was crammed full, far past the fire code. Standing, he craned his neck over the sea of people. 

“Dude?” Kou took another swig of his beer. He had no clue that Akihito’s was looking for what might be his dream girl.

“Hey, boys,” a husky voice caught his attention. Kou swallowed too quickly, choking in the process. Hisana had found them, and she looked amused as Aki beat his friend’s back, trying to clear out any alcohol from his lungs. “Mind if I sit down?”

It was dark, and Akihito knew she was smiling because the black lights made her teeth glow. He could not even see the whites of her eyes. “Sure,” he was sure his own teeth flashed. 

“Thanks,” she slid in next to him. “I’m Hisana,” she offered Kou her hand. 

“You’re beautiful,” Kou said thoughtlessly. Akihito wanted to smack his friend upside the head. That sounded like a bad pickup line from a romance manga. Kou must have known it too, because he quickly stammered out, “I mean––I’m Kou.”

She was kind enough not to comment on his slip. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” Kou looked dejectedly at his beer, as if contemplating drowning himself in booze. Blacking out would ensure that he did not relive that embarrassing introduction for the rest of his life. 

Akihito tried to boost Kou’s spirits. He mentioned that his best friend had a dog, and on cue, Hisana leaned in. Yup, she was a dog lover and Kou was a dog lover. This could be the start of something beautiful, if it all played out like he had imagined it. But then Kou said his dog was named Momo-chan, and Hisana leaned back into the booth. She liked big, macho dogs it seemed. Or maybe she just really hated cliche names like Peaches. 

“My dad gave him to me. He’s six,” she was showing Kou a picture of the gray pit bull that had knocked him over. Asimov looked like he was grinning in the photo, his mouth full of chew toys. “And this is Ruger,” she swiped to the right. “She is three.”

Ruger––now that was an adorable white fluff ball. She had pink bows tied on her pointy ears, as Asimov curled protectively around her. A big brother watching over his baby sister. 

“Ruger. Isn’t that a gun?” Kou asked. 

Yes, it was. Akihito only knew because of Asami and American spy movies. It was Asami’s weapon of choice. “Yeah,” he swallowed the lump in his throat. His friends knew about Asami, but thought him a talented business man. They even thought Feilong was just a rival entrepreneur looking to one-up the yakuza. 

“Better be careful. Guns are illegal in Japan!” Kou laughed, ignorant of Akihito’s sweating palms. 

“She’s at the hotel,” HIsana was somewhat subdued, too. “I doubt she would be mistaken for an actual Ruger. She only weighs nine pounds. And barks.”

“A hotel?” Akihito cut off the gun talk. They made him nervous, always bringing back memories of Hong Kong. Feeling Kirishima’s solid body falling on him, shielding him from Yuri. Lifting the secretary’s gun to shoulder level, jerking the trigger back and wounding the Russian animal. Guns gave him nightmares; Akihito was fully aware that one day, a gunshot would take Asami from him. He fully supported Japan’s antigun laws, but knew deep down, it was the criminals that endangered his lover. “I thought you were visiting your family?”

“I am,” she shrugged. “But it’s just better for everyone if I stay at a hotel while I’m here. It’s only a two bedroom apartment, and it is fully occupied.”

Man, her family kept getting worse and worse. Rather than dwell on her misfortune, the photographer excused himself. He needed to pee, and Hisana seemed to be warming up to Kou. Just a few more minutes, and hopefully Kou would have the confidence to make his move. As he was leaving, Kou was scooting closer to her, eager to look at more puppy pics. 

He took longer than he needed to, even dancing a song with a girl named Kama. Finally, Akihito returned to the table. He stayed far enough away to where the couple would not see him. In case the omiai was a smashing success, the photographer did not want to be a cock block. They had not moved, but Kou’s shoulders were tense. It did not look like it was going well. His friend jumped Akihito put his hands on the table. He could salvage this date. “We should dance!”

Yeah, get them up and moving. Pumping blood and elevated heart rates helped people fall in love. His heart had most definitely been racing during his first several encounters with Asami. 

“Yes!” Hisana giggled as he pulled her to her feet. Kou quickly followed them. “I missed the memo about dressing up in costumes!” She shouted into his ear as she gestured to between him and Kou. “I would have worn sparkly pants, too!”

Akihito was only wearing this monstrosity because Asami promised to be in costume whenever his prissy ass deigned to arrive. They were going to be sultan and sex slave. It was Asami’s idea, and Akihito knew that he was going to end up regretting agreeing to it so easily. It was one of the stipulations on him being allowed to actually go out to the club. Doubtlessly, they would fulfill some roleplaying fantasy of the crime lord’s. His pants were dark green, and a throwback to parachute pants. In lieu of a shirt, he wore one of Asami’s super expensive vests. It did not feel as nice as the yakuza’s other ones, and when asked about it, Asami said that it was a memento from his youth. That explained why it fit Akihito so well. 

Kou’s pants had been found at Good Will, along with Rinka and Takato’s getups. They were gold M.C. Hammer pants, that glittered like a disco ball. “You look great!” Kou spun her around. 

Of course she did. She was the unaware star of the evening. She was wearing high heels, a tight, little skirt and a button up blouse. It looked more like an outfit one of the girls at his office would wear, but maybe that was how Europeans dressed for parties. He did not know. 

Hisana danced wedged between them. At first, Akihito pulled away but she quickly grabbed his good hand and help him close. He met Kou’s gaze and his friend shrugged. Maybe she was looking for a ménage à trois. 

She held his gaze. Maybe it was the glow of Kou’s pants, or he was missing Asami, but Aki thought her eyes looked gold. She would laugh and thrust her hips behind her, all while holding tightly to his unbound hand. Kou’s face was contorted in enraptured bliss; the photographer really did not want to know why. 

Sweat poured off them, rushing over high cheeks and pointy shoulders like Niagara Falls. Hisana swayed rapidly, her heat a pulsing heartbeat in the dark. She was sensual and dominant, leading the dance and only allowing the boys to move reactively. Her hips tied Kou to her, thrusting and grinding to the music. He was so inexperienced when compared to her. 

Hisana seemed more interested in him than Kou. She would dance with both boys, full hips swinging, but there was always a sexual edge when she was with Kou. She moved like an experienced lover guiding her coltish pet through the first stages of amorous heat. Akihito recognized it as the same way he and Asami must have looked during their first year together: the newbie trying desperately to keep up in the heat of the moment, uncertain but willing to go toe-to-toe with the debauched teacher. 

When she was with Akihito, there was nothing sexual at all. It was exploratory, curious, like she wanted to taste his soul but not his dick. Her fingers would run over his shoulders, and her hands knotted with his, but inches separated their bodies. She did not molest him the way Kou did her. 

“Oh my God!” she threw her head back, her chest heaving. Akihito heard her skin pull apart from Kou’s as she propped herself up on her knees. She was panting. “This place is amazing!”

“Do you want to get a drink?” Kou was still swaying, but Akihito thought it was more due to the alcohol. His friend was drunk. 

“And a cigarette,” she stood up all the way. “I need a smoke.”

“Rinka and Takato are at the booth,” Akihito noted. 

Kou grabbed her hand. “Yeah! You need to meet them, too!”

The introductions were quick. Rinka sized up her female competition while Takato played with a lock of hair that curled just behind her ear. He could not have been less interested in Hisana. “You smoking?” Hisana asked as she rummaged through her Prada purse. 

“No,” Akihito accepted a sip of Rinka’s wine. “I hate cigarettes.” Well, he loved the musky scent that tainted Asami, the effortless way the man took a drag off one as he reclined against the headboard after sex. Ryu thought his lover was passed out during those moments of thoughtless self-indulgence and masculine pride, and Akihito usually was. There were rare instances, though, when he would keep the threat of sleep at bay long enough for him to lay still, and watch his lover relax. Asami so rarely let his guard down completely, but it was one of Akihito’s favorite expressions. 

Cigarettes and sex gave him those memories of his godlike yakuza. Still, he was firmly against the cancer sticks. 

“What’s that?” Kou asked when she pulled out a black tube that was slightly longer than a cigarette. 

“It’s an electronic cigarette,” Hisana swiped her lips with chapstick. “All the nicotine goodness and none of the bad tobacco byproduct. I’ll see you guys in a few,” she waved before disappearing into the crowd. 

“Where is she going?” Takato finally pulled his lips off his wife’s neck. 

Akihito shrugged. “Europeans must smoke outside,” he guessed. Kou looked decisively put out and so his friend nudged him before signaling for another round of drinks. “Cheer up!” he said. 

“Hisana left her phone!” Kou’s gasp made it sound like it was the most horrible crime in the world. Like she was burning children at the stake or something. 

Akihito personally did not see the big deal. “So what? She’ll be back in a few minutes. She left her purse here, too.” And that thing was massive. Ridiculously big. It probably cost more than he made in six months, and there was no way a woman would leave a purse like that a club. 

“Is it password protected?” Kou grabbed the shiny black iPhone off the table. “Damn!”

“You shouldn’t be snooping through people’s private affects!” Akihito grabbed the phone out of Kou’s grubby hands. “It’s rude!”

“Coming from the photographer that stalked Momohara Ai, that’s a bit rich,” Rinka’s eyes narrowed at the duo.

“I was trying to apprehend her stalker, thank you very much! Not trying to creep on a girl at the club!” Akihito staunchly defended his work. 

“We should take it to her!” Kou exclaimed. He easily swiped it from Akihito’s grasp. “It’s a moment from a fairytale. Prince Charming taking Cinderella her glass slipper!”

“How much has he had to drink?” Rinka sounded worried. No one wanted to babysit Kou as he puked up three days worth of food and beer. 

“With free refills? A whole lot!” Aki answered. He turned to tell Kou no, but the brunette was already out of the booth and running towards the door. “Damn it!” the photographer swore. “Watch her purse!” he told his friends before running after Kou. He caught up to the stumbling man quickly, and helped him stay upright as they weaved between the twisting bodies. Maybe it would do both of them some good to get some fresh air. It would also give him a quiet minute to call Asami. The crime lord was supposed to have been there an hour ago. 

On cue, his phone buzzed. Asami’s name flashed on the screen, so Aki shoved Kou a little harder than normal to get him out of the doorway. Into the quiet side street. “Hey, where are you?” he demanded. 

Asami’s deep chuckle reverberated in the speaker. “On my way now, kitten. I had some business that took a little longer than expected.”

Friday business was usually illegal business, so Akihito did not press him for details. “Okay. I’m dressed up, so you had better be!”

“I have not forgotten, Akihito. I assure you,” Asami reassured him. “I would not miss this night for anything.”

Akihito’s stomach churned at the heady promise in his lover’s words. They were going to dance and lose themselves in the roleplay. Tonight, the penthouse would turn into a sultan’s palace as king and slave fucked for hours on end. Oh yeah, it was going to be a good night. “Hisana made it here,” he said just to stop the burgeoning erection in his pants. Poofy pants would not hide it like his tight jeans. 

“Hisana?” Asami asked quickly. 

“Yeah. The girl I set Kou up with. She’s her––”

“She’s boootitful, Asami-san!” Kou shouted into the speaker. Akihito jerked away just to avoid going deaf from the assault. “I think I’m in love!”

“Shuddup!” the photographer grabbed Kou by the arm. He was searching for Hisana, bumping into other people smoking. Apparently it was a socializing activity as well as addiction relief. “Kou thinks she’s hot.”

“What does she look like?” 

Aki crossed his eyebrows. “What? Why do you want to know?” It was not like Asami to ask after some leggy girl at the club. No, usually he was all about Akihito’s ass and nothing could get in his way. 

“The girl. Hisana. What does she look like?”

“Uhh…long black hair. Short. Pretty. You know, like every Japanese girl,” he let Kou go. Hisana was not in the immediate vicinity, and there was no oncoming traffic for Kou to stumble in to. The photographer was much more interested in why his lover wanted to talk about a random girl that was going to marry Kou. “She goes to school in Europe,” he offered as he thought more about her. “She’s only back in Japan for her dad’s birthday.”

“Oxford?” Asami asked. 

“Yeah.” That might throw a wrench in the whole marriage plan. England was on the other side of the world. Maybe she would not want a boyfriend in Japan. And why the fuck was he thinking about Kou when Asami knew where the hell Hisana went to school? “How did you know?”

“Are you still at the club?” Asami’s voice was harsh. 

“Outside. Looking for her. She wanted a smoke break,” but he was running to grab Kou. They were going to haul ass back inside and wait for Asami to show up. This girl must have been bad news if he was freaking out. Or freaking out as much as he could. 

“Go back inside. Kirishima is calling your escort now. I want you to stay there until I personally come get you,” ordered his lover. 

Akihito could feel his heart racing. Kou had exclaimed jubilantly that he had located her. He was running full speed towards her, waving her phone like a cigarette lighter at a concert, and Akihito sprinted after him, his shoulder screaming at the jarring movement. “Is she dangerous?” he demanded. 

“Incredibly so,” Asami told him. “But not to you. She would never harm you. Nakamura is there. He will detain her until I arrive.”

“Hisana-chan!” Kou threw his arms around the girl. Mother fucker, his drunk friend picked the night of all nights to outrun Akihito. He pressed a wet kiss to her cheek as he presented her the phone. “You forgot your phone!”

Hisana lowered the glowing e-cig and turned away from the guy who had been chatting her up. He was white, almost as big as Suoh, and cracked his knuckles threateningly when Kou accosted her. “It’s fine,” she waved him away. “Thanks,” it sounded halfhearted, even to Akihito. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Are you with her now?” Asami demanded. “Kirishima, she’s at Club Peek with Akihito. Al Madani is in Tokyo. Akihito! Answer me!”

“Yes,” Akihito hung up the phone. This girl was in league with the Arab that Asami had been tracking for two weeks. The man that posed no threat to him or Asami, who would blackmail Asami at a given chance but would not kidnap his lover. This woman, smiling and puppy-loving Hisana was also dangerous, but not to Akihito. None of it made sense, but Akihito was alive thanks to Asami. If his lover said to stay away from her, he would. Life lessons taught him a thing or two. 

“Sorry about Kou,” he tried to sound normal. 

“It’s a Cinderella story!” the brunette was singing at the top of his lungs. 

“It’s quite all right. I have seen drunk people before,” Hisana reached for the phone.

His nerves were as taught as wires just about to be cut. His shoulder ache had dulled once he stopped running, but Asami’s admission that this girl was trouble made every muscle tighten. He was ready to react instantaneously, for whatever she was capable of doing must have been terrible. Maybe she did burn kids at the stake after all. 

Then someone screamed. “GUN!”

Cars had been slowly driving by, dropping off costumed people and picking up the staggering drunkards. They were very careful of pedestrians, never honking or shouting. So no one paid attention when a silver SUV drove down the side street. It was not a usual car, but not so much as to arouse suspicions. Akihito had been so focused on her that he did not even see it coming. 

Naturally, all hell broke loose. 

The shots whizzed just past Kou’s ear. His friend dropped Hisana’s phone and fell to his knees. He screamed in pain and clutched his ear. It was bleeding. Hisana shouted something, but the world fell quiet. Akihito only saw her mouth move, her eyes wide in terror. She seemed just as surprised as he was that someone was shooting at them. 

Behind her, the bullets sunk loudly into the humongous man. His blood arched like a fountain in the night air, hitting the back of Hisana’s head and part of her cheek. He reached for her, to pull her down to the ground and away from the path of fire. Gravity pulled him back instead, and he collapsed into the hotdog stand on the corner. 

“Get down!” she pushed the photographer. Hard. 

He fell, chest first. Akihito screamed on impact, his shoulder exploding in mind numbing pain. Kou was beside him, still holding his head, but trying to silence Akihito’s screams. The men in masks were out of the SUV and coming towards them. Kou was trying to rouse Akihito, trying to get them both up so that they could run away. He saw men in black suits running towards them, and he figured that they were Akihito’s body guards. If they could just make it to them, they would be safe.

“Stay down!” Hisana ordered loudly. 

His date stepped over them, heels clacking on the cement as she rushed the attackers. She was so small and delicate looking, like a flower, and Kou knew in his gut that he was going to watch her get shot. Maybe Aki’s guards could reach them first, and save her. Or at least, stop the bleeding. 

Pulling her arm back, Hisana thrust her long fake cigarette into the first assailant’s neck. She must have been strong, because it slid into his skin as easy as a knife through butter. More blood, black in the moonlight, squirted out. It streamed over her, and Kou was briefly reminded of a man’s cum. It did not phase her. She left it embedded in the man’s throat––he had long since fallen away––and charged the second man. 

Grabbing the hand that held the gun, she twisted it violently, trying to wrangle it from his grasp. Ruger, Kou thought. Of course Ruger was a gun. The way she fought, how easily she took the illegal gun from the man’s hand, she was well versed in firearms. 

The girl did not stand a chance, though. A third man grabbed her billowing hair and jerked her backwards. She shouted in surprised pain, and moved to turn on the guy when a fourth appeared like an apparition. He fired an odd looking gun, one that was more plastic than metal. Two thin wires shot from it, embedding deep in her chest, and then they lit up with electricity. A taser. Her small body shook and flailed, slowly roasting from the inside out. It felt like hours to Kou before the asshole turned it off. 

The second guy grabbed his gun off the ground while his partner picked up Hisana. He threw her so hard into the SUV that Kou heard the body hit. Doors slid shut and the silver car drove away. They were gone as quickly as they came, leaving dead bodies, injured witnesses and a confused photographer in their wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I was going to do Hyacinthus Bloomed first, but this was rattling around inside my head, and I could not think about anything else. It was a very hard chapter to write, and I am not entirely sure if I am in love with it. But it is going to stay as is for now. I appreciate all the reviews and kudos and follows! You all are amazing!


	5. You'll Never Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank the amazing Miyanoai for beta-ing for me. I have never had a beta before in my life, so I appreciate your hard work more than you'll ever know.

Chapter Five:

Asami arrived ten minutes later, but the street was so crowded that Suoh had to drop him off behind Club Peek. Red and blue lights spun in the inky night, and civilians were crowded in circles, quietly whispering. He found Akihito swarmed by his men, his blabbering friend––Kou, by his side.

“Ryu,” his lover sighed as his men parted, allowing him to slip up alongside the boy.

Asami looked at his boy carefully. He was pale, and shaking from the adrenaline, but no worse for the wear. “You didn’t dress up,” Akihito frowned, but the crime lord knew he was not upset. He actually seemed to be comforted by the fact that his lover was unshakeable and consistent in the face of the chaos that surged around him.

“It’s in the car,” he said. Asami looked to his men. “Nakamura, what happened?” The superb bodyguard seemed to have done his job well. Akihito was physically unharmed, his friend appeared to only have a minor wound, and the dead bodies being carted away in ambulances were not his men. Whatever had happened in the minutes since Akihito hung up on him, none of it seemed directly tied to him.

“An unidentified female was kidnapped, sir,” the goon dutifully reported. Kou’s body flexed and Akihito shook his head, warning him to just stay quiet. Now was not the time to get all emotional over Hisana’s name. “Though she was in close proximity to Takaba-san, they focused their assault on her.”

Akihito was stunned. Hisana was the object of the attack, not him. That had to have been a first. The white guy, probably European now that he thought about it, must have been her bodyguard. That was why she was not perturbed by Madarame at the supermarket! Even dangerous people had to have protection, perhaps more so than ordinary citizens. Kidnappings were starting to happen with an alarming frequency, and Akihito could feel the rage boil inside him. It was getting risibly old.

“She killed one of them,” Kou whispered. He pointed to the bloodstained concrete four meters away. “Like it was nothing. There was so much blood––” his friend choked, unable to continue talking.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Akihito patted Kou’s back. His friend was as white as a wedding dress, and it looked like he was about to lose his lunch. He was not used to near death experiences, shootouts and gore. The first time was always the worst.

“It isn’t your fault,” Kou loudly gulped. “And it was not her fault either. Those men…” he trailed off, his thoughts too terrifying to voice. But he did anyway, because he had to know. “Are they going to kill her?”

He looked directly at Asami, her phone still clutched tightly in his palms. Maybe Akihito should not have assumed that his friends were blithely ignorant about Asami’s true businesses. The way Kou stared at Asami, shaking but prepared for the truth, told Akihito that he had always known.

“No,” his lover’s voice was as sharp as a knife. Akihito flinched, unprepared for the declaration that fell from his lips. “I’m going to find her.”

“Ryu?” Akihito stepped towards the crime lord. He said that Hisana was dangerous, so why would he go after her? Even if there was a score to settle between them, surely letting another syndicate extract revenge was an option. It was asinine to risk death just so he could have the luxury of killing her. Also, there was the possibility that the crafty girl had orchestrated this entire ordeal just to lure Asami to her. She might have assumed that his lover would give chase, wanting to be the one to take her life, and planned accordingly.

“Which one of you witnessed the kidnapping?” a detective interrupted him.

Asami looked murderous at the interruption and his friend noticed. Straightening his shoulders, Kou faced the officer. “I did.”

“And you?” very aware of just who was standing with the two boys, the Tokyo detective made sure that there was not any witness intimidation happening just under his nose.

Kou answered for him. “He was in the club. He was keeping me company until you were ready to talk to me.” He looked directly at Akihito and nodded. He knew what was going to happen next, that Hisana needed someone to save her, and he was trusting the photographer to do just that. “Thanks for letting me use your phone, Aki,” he said loudly. He made a show of handing him Hisana’s phone. Akihito was confused until he felt the slick, cylindrical cigarette beneath the iPhone. Kou must have nabbed it when no one was looking.

“She saved us, Aki,” Kou hissed into his ear. “It’s our turn to help save her.” They locked eyes. Kou trusted his investigative skills and perseverance to save Cinderella. With Asami backing him, Akihito knew he could.

“Okay,” he nodded staunchly.

As Kou followed the officer to the makeshift tent, the photographer looked at his lover. “Were you serious?” he asked. “Are you going to help?” this would be so much quicker and less painful if Asami was helping him. Akihito knew from experience that the longer you were imprisoned, the more it hurt. And no matter what Hisana had done to Asami, he did not want her to suffer.

“Is that her phone?” Asami took it from his hand. Gold eyes widened slightly when he felt the murder weapon.

“Yeah,” Akihito had to run to keep up with Asami’s long strides. Asami did not even notice, and that was very strange. Usually, his lover kept a close eye on Akihito, and once he saw one wince from the photographer, he would have slowed down. Not tonight. “Her purse is in the club at our booth.”

“Ueda,” Asami snapped the man’s name. Goon Two easily melted into the crow, headed off to retrieve the expensive bag. “In,” he jerked the door of the limo open.

“Asami-sama,” Suoh gasped in surprise. He had not been expecting his boss for several hours.

“Hisana has been kidnapped,” Asami growled. He waited by the door, his foot resting on the lip of the car. His leg bounced rapidly, and he thrummed his fingers on the roof of the car.

For the first time in his life, Akihito heard the stoic guard swear. “Fucking shit!”

“Asami-sama,” Ueda appeared from the darkness. He offered up the oversized bag with a bow. Asami took it wordlessly, and slid into the limo beside the photographer. “Drive,” he ordered his Chief Security Officer, who had barely been able to get his seatbelt on before Asami gave the order. Looking at Akihito, he said, “Tell me exactly what happened. Every detail.”

Feeling like he was a criminal being shook down by the government, Akihito still told his lover every detail he could think of. Nothing was too miniscule. On tv, it was the small bits of info that created leads, so Akihito was as specific as possible. Not that it mattered because Asami was digging through her purse, and not paying attention to Akihito’s story. He frowned and glowered, hummed and growled, and when he pulled out a packet of birth control pills, hellfire glinted in his eyes.

At last, he pulled out a room key for a hotel. “They’re staying at the Imperial Hotel. He must still be there.”

Suoh had worked for Asami long enough to understand unspoken orders. The yakuza wanted to go to prestigious hotel. He immediately texted the location to those in the car that trailed behind them, and then to Kirishima. The secretary was as furious as the rest of them.

“You’re still chasing after Al Madani?” the photographer demanded. “What about Hisana?”

“This is for Hisana. I need to know if this is connected to him,” Asami’s gold eyes punched into Akihito’s soul. His words were short, fiery and harsh. He had never used such a tone with Akihito before, even after all their time together. For the first time, Akihito believed that Asami would hurt him if he continued to push.

“What does Hisana have to do with him?” he cried. Never one to listen to reason, the photographer was willing to press his lover.

“They’re dating,” Asami said through clenched teeth. To admit that was more painful that getting shot. He viciously the unlock button on the phone, and the screen flared brightly to life.

“It’s password protected,” the photographer mumbled. It was pointless, because he knew that his lover was not listening to a word he said. “We already tried to unlock it.”

Asami’s thumb pounded the screen, and then it unfurled. Akihito’s mouth dropped. “How did you do that?” He had never once in his life been able to hack someone’s phone.

“It’s Mumbs.”

“Ehh?” he had no idea what his lover had said. It might not have even been Japanese.

“Mumbs. It was the name of her teddy bear. She always uses it as her password.”

Rich people, screw them. Ordinary people could not get a five character passcode. “You know her,” he accused.

Asami flinched, but did not stop looking at the phone. The screensaver was Hisana kissing the cheek of a handsome, tan man with a hooked nose. Akihito knew that he was finally looking at Mahdi Al Madani.

*

Much like Asami, Hisana and Mahdi seemed to prefer the top floor or the nicest suite anywhere they went. Asami said nothing when Akihito followed him out of the limo. He was dressed like an idiot, and maybe the rich assholes thought he was a hooker Asami picked up. He did not care; he promised Kou that he was going to save Hisana, come hell or high water. Asami led them to the door in a matter of minutes. Putting a finger against his lips to signal complete silence, Asami slipped the card into the electronic reader. The door clicked open.

“Hey beautiful!” a voice called in heavily accented Japanese. It was painfully obvious that he was a foreigner. Dogs rushed the group of six the moment the door swung open. Ruger’s bark was a squeaky yip, and Asimov’s was so deep it sounded like a cough. He recognized Akihito. Bounding over, he jumped up, licking his face.

“What did you think about the kid?” the Arab walked into the sitting room, drying his hair with a towel. He was shirtless, but had on a pair of plaid pajama pants. “Babe?” he asked when Hisana did not immediately answer him.

His dark face paled and pupils dilated when he dropped the towel to see the small gang in his room. “Oh, fuck…”

Asimov instantly sensed  Al Madani’s tense demeanor. He shifted on his feet, and growled at the intruding party. Asami was having none of it. “Sit,” he commanded. Akihito was pretty sure that everyone in the room wanted to obey the command.

“Asami Ryuichi,” Mahdi whispered.

Asami sniffed derisively. The foreigner flinched, and quickly scanned the entourage. He was looking for Hisana in askance, and when he could not find her, he squared his shoulders before bravely stepping forward. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir.”

Asami completely ignored the offered handshake. It was a power play, and he would not acknowledge Mahdi Al Madani as an equal. “I need to know if you have offended anyone to the point of retaliation,” he got straight to the point.

Mahdi chuckled uncomfortably as he dropped his hand. Apparently, he expected Asami to snub him, and Akihito could only wonder about the history between the two. What could have happened to make Asami, who was always painfully genteel, act so rudely? “Present company excluded?” He knew that Asami had put a bounty on his head. When no one answered him and the oppressive silence became too awkward to bear, he started talking. “I am sure I have. Nothing that would interfere with yo––”

Asami cut him off. “Hisana has been taken.”

Mahdi looked around wildly. Black eyes searched desperately for her, like it was some kind of sick joke. “You are shitting me,” he whispered. “I just talked to her an hour ago––”

Asami hated hearing the man speak. He was barely younger than Akihito, only a handful of years older than Hisana, and Asami Ryuichi thought he was a louse. He hated the defiler that twitched before him. “I don’t make jokes about my daughter,” he snarled.

Yeah. That’s right. Asami never made jokes about anything, much less nasty ass girls–––wait, what?

Mahdi gulped. “I haven’t––we haven’t done anything recently.” They had been in school until June, and then they vacationed in Sicily until mid July. Hisana wanted to sneak into Japan nearly two weeks before Asami Ryuichi’s birthday, so he would never expect a birthday surprise.

“Huh?” Akihito grunted. Nobody heard him, thankfully. His brain was short-circuiting, trying to figure out exactly who had a kid. 

That was what he was afraid of. The unknown enemy had first targeted Akihito, and after that had failed, Hisana had become a convenient second target. She had no idea of the danger frothing in Tokyo, awarding him the blind trust of a child. This was his city, his country, and she had been taken because he failed to anticipate that she would want to meet Akihito in an unbiased situation.

Mahdi’s hands fisted into bloodless coils. He stared directly at Asami. “Who have you pissed off?” They all knew now that she was taken because of Asami. He was the big fish in the ocean, far more deadly than the nephew of a small syndicate lord.

“Unlike you, the list is endless,” sneered the Japanese kingpin. He never bothered to keep track of his enemies, assuming that everyone would screw him over if given the chance. Asami had even lost three loyal guards during three different assassination attempts. He was secure in power, still, and knew his regime was relatively impenetrable––even with Akihito at his side. No matter who rose up against him, he would crush them like a tsunami on the coastline.

The imperative question was: who knew of Hisana? She had been his greatest secret, and until recently, his biggest weakness. He had kept her secluded from the world, encapsulated in his shadow until she was nothing but a part of him. The list of possible culprits was short, but deadly.

Mahdi glowered but rather than snap some acerbic retort, he grabbed his phone off the table. He pushed some buttons and swore in Arabic. “I want in,” he demanded in stinted Japanese.

Gold eyes narrowed. “I don’t need your help, boy.” He said it scathingly, letting the foreigner know exactly what his place was: trash under Asami’s Armani shoe. His anger hid his fear, and gave him some modicum of control over the situation.

No, seriously. Akihito must have heard wrong. Who had a daughter?

“You’ll have to kill me to keep me out of this,” Mahdi retorted. Had it been anyone else, any other couple, Asami would have relented. The safeguarding of a lover was paramount in the underworld, and he would disembowel anyone who dared stand between him and Akihito. But it was his precious daughter, and he would be damned if he kept the little snake who wanted to slither between her legs by his side.

Asami jerked a gun out of its hidden holster on his side. A click echoed in the suddenly silent room as he swiftly jerked the safety back. “With pleasure.”

Akihito yelped, but Asami was oblivious; he only had eyes for Mahdi Al Madani. Suoh noticed, and moved in front of the photographer. He anticipated the Arab’s brains getting blown out all over the luxury room.

“Look, I get it,” Mahdi sounded composed, as if having a gun pointed at his frontal lobe was a common occurrence. Since Hisana was Asami’s daughter, it stood that maybe he did. Akihito groaned as realization swept over him, numbing his limbs and ricocheting lightning bolts in his brain. Suoh glanced worriedly over his shoulder. Holy shit––Asami had a daughter. A daughter about his age. He was going to pass out.

“I’m the dick that’s fucking your daughter, and you hate me. I know you want to shoot me,” he nodded to the shaking gun still leveled between his brown eyes. “And that scares the shit out of me. You scare the shit out of me. But I am completely in love with her, and I am going to get her back. If you want to stop me, you will have to kill me right now, because nothing less than death is going to keep me away from her.”

The speech should have sent warm fuzzies through Akihito, but his stomach was roiling too loudly for him to process anything else. Asami had a daughter. Oh God, he had a hot daughter that he tried to get to hook up with Kou.

Fucking hell.

“I don’t want your help,” the yakuza growled.

Mother fucking hell. Asami was going to kill him when he figured it out. It was fair though, because how the fucking shit was Akihito supposed to have known that he had a goddamned daughter!

“I don’t care,” declared the intruder on Hisana’s affections.

Suoh was impressed, Akihito could tell. Most people caved to Asami’s demands. Really, the photographer was the only person to challenge him, and even he gave in after rigorous and convincing sex. Then again, love made you do stupid things. Akihito was still standing idly by while his lover threatened to shoot Mahdi’s head off. It did not make the list of things that bothered him, at the moment. Because, seriously, Asami Ryuichi had a daughter that he had just forgot to mention.

“You will follow my lead,” Asami pressed the gun to soft skin. “Your opinions and ideas mean nothing to me. You have no authority; I expect your full cooperation and obedience. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I am still going to kill you once she’s home safe. I’ll tell her you died in the crossfire,” Asami kept threatening the straight faced man.

“I will cross that bridge when it comes,” he shrugged slightly. A lot could change in twenty-four hours, and he was hoping that Asami Ryuichi’s opinion of him was one of them.

Only at the blithe acceptance did Asami lower the black Ruger. “Get dressed. We have work to do.”

*

It took Mahdi no time to switch into jeans and a lavender button up. It was surprising to see a crime mogul in such casual dress; Asami was always rocking a three piece suit and tie. Even Hisana had been dressed in professional attire at the club. It could be a family preference, and it certainly explained why Asami kept trying to “update” Akihito’s wardrobe.

Asimov followed Asami like a shadow, obeying him as diligently as he did Hisana. Ruger quickly lost interest in the Japanese men. She scampered around the hotel room, chasing a furry pink ball that squeaked. Asimov stayed silent, sapphire eyes fixed on Asami, waiting for instruction. He seemed very aware that Hisana was missing, but stayed calm lest he be needed. It was astounding how Asami could elicit such devotion from even an animal.

Doggie beds were strewn in front of the large fireplace. In the big one was a golden bear. It had large black eyes, one hanging by a thread. The fur was patchy, bald in some spots, and matted. When Asami dismissed Asimov, the pit bull trotted to his warm bed and curled around it. This was Mumbs, the loved companion of a lonely princess on the night when iniquitous business kept her father away. It was the bear who stood strong, having witnessed the monstrous deeds of Asami Ryuichi, but still loved his daughter.

Asami finally noticed his gaze. “That bear was her constant companion when she was young. She never went anywhere without it.” His voice garbled like a gurgling stream, washing over Akihito with heavy emotion. He was acknowledging the reality of the situation: yes, she is my daughter, she is loved, and she is coming home.

“He looks like he’s traveled the world,” Akihito’s own voice warbled. He had known that Asami existed before their relationship, but he imagined it was a sterile and routine life. A child was vivacious, and warm. It meant a life of love and laughter, a life full enough to be called happy. It meant that Asami Ryuichi could continue on should he every tire of the photographer, should they ever cease to be.

“He was my eyes and ears when I was gone on business,” Asami said through tight lips. A protector from Monsters-Under-the-Bed while Daddy was away. Neither had been able to protect her this time.

Akihito saw how quickly Asami’s composure was slipping. “It’s going to be okay,” he put his hand on the crime lord’s back. “We’re going to find her.”

“Yes,” Asami jerked away from his touch. “And I am going to bleed dry anyone who gets in my way.”

He turned on his heel, deigning to wait in the limo. Akihito waited a moment before following. He had no idea how to handle this Asami.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPIRSE! 
> 
> Hope it got some of you at least. I have been waiting for this chapter forever, because I knew it was coming. And I just wanted to knock your socks off!
> 
> I want to give a shout out to Yaoifav456. You were the closest to guessing just who Hisana was. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hopefully, you enjoyed it.


	6. Dear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Miyanoai, my wonderful beta. Also, this chapter marks the beginning of the violence. It is enough to bother me as I wrote it, but I kept it in there. I think it is important to the story, as well as character and relationship development. 
> 
> I have been warned that Asami is a little OOC, but this is a totally OOC story, in my opinion, so I did not change it. I seriously debated scrapping this entire chapter, and doing a rewrite. At the end of the day, I could not think of any other way to communicate my points and move the story in the direction I intended.

Chapter Six:

Asami was itching for a fight. Looking for someone to punish. To throttle. To kill. Anything cathartic to help ease the gnawing terror in his gut. Akihito could not give him anyone to kill, but he could give him his body. Sex had always worked before. 

“The fuck, Ryu?” he flung the limo door open. He told Mahdi, in a nice-to-meet-you kind of way to hitch a ride with someone else. It was going to get nasty in the limo. 

Asami looked shocked that Akihito would dare to speak to him in a such a manner. He opened his mouth to say something vitriolic, but his boy did not give him the chance. “You should have told me.”

“I don’t owe you any explanation,” the man snarled. “All you need to know is the things I tell you.”

“So I’m just a hole you fuck?” Akihito shouted at the top of his lungs. 

Suoh wisely chose to roll up the privacy screen after that comment. Akihito knew that he was in for it then. He was dangerously close to crossing a line that there was no return from. Asami was already a ticking time bomb over Hisana, and pushing him over the edge was deadly. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Oh shit, this was such a bad idea, but he was going to help Asami, make him feel better, and he would offer his body to do it. 

Asami grabbed Akihito’s upper arms with such brutish strength that the sensitive flesh immediately bruised. Akihito gasped from the stabbing pain, but Asami was so enraged that he did not care. He threw the photojournalist onto his back, which knocked the air from his lungs. Asami straddled him, keeping his weight on the boy’s arms, effectively pinioning him to the seat. Said photographer kicked and flailed his legs, but he might as well have tried to move Mount Fuji. Asami wasn’t budging. 

“Don’t you ever say that to me again!” the criminal roared. “Have I ever treated you like some disposable boy cunt? Never again, Akihito!”

“I have a right to know––” Akihito shouted but Asami quickly shook him to silence. 

“My life! My child!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he bellowed. “It’s none of your fucking business!”

He should have cowered, should have relented under Asami’s outrage, but he kept arguing. This is what would help his lover. For once, Akihito was not scared. “What would you have done at Christmas? Your birthday? She’s obviously a part of your life!”

“You were never supposed to meet!” the crime lord all but screamed. He was Alecto, a fury of Hades, so close to apoplectic rage that Akihito thought he might have a stroke. 

Pain ripped his heart in two. That confession was unexpected, and the response it pulled forth from Akihito was very, very real. “Are you that fucking ashamed of me?” Akihito screamed at the top of his lungs as he renewed his thrashing with vigor. “Let me go, you bastard! Lemme go!” He fought hard, kicking and gnashing his teeth so close to Asami’s face. Anything to get away from the crime lord. 

Asami’s eyes widened and he threw the photographer way, as if his words repelled him. “Do you think I don’t know how wrong this is? I am almost old enough to be your father!”

“Out of everything that has happened between us, you thought that our age difference would bother me?” Akihito slipped to the other side of the limo. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his heart beating so rapidly that it was bound to burst from his ribcage. He could not believe his ears. Did Asami know how stupid he sounded? Yeah sure, murder and extort and rape and cheat people, but an age gap was a deal breaker! Or maybe he thought Hisana would disapprove because of their age. Asami certainly seemed to value her. “Is it because of Hisana?” he demanded. 

“She’s your age!” shouted the father. “SHE should be fucking you, not me!”

“You’re a fucking idiot!” Akihito threw bruised arms into the air. Though he totally wasn’t. It was surreal, to be dating a man who’s daughter was just years younger than he was, and logic stated that they would gravitate to each other. Yet to suspect that Akihito would leave Asami for his daughter was ludicrous. He could not fathom being with anyone but Ryu. 

“Watch your mouth,” snarled his lover. This was the opening that the boy was looking for. Asami was close to his breaking point. Just a little more, and once more, Akihito was willing to go to extremes to soothe his lover. “I have been extremely lenient with you thus far––”

“Oh, whaddaya gonna do?” Akihito taunted in a sarcastic, dopey voice. He knew exactly which buttons to push, playing Asami like a fiddle. The crime lord knew every quirk of his lover, knew how to manipulate him, but he never suspected the photographer was also capable of such exploitation. “Spank me?”

Gold eyes glinted and then narrowed. Grabbing Akihito’s wrists, he jerked him onto his lap. The investigative journalist gasped as his diaphragm spasmed, making it impossible to breathe. Asami tossed a leg over Aki’s knees, locking him in place, as he viciously pulled his pants down. 

A hard, slick crack echoed in the suddenly silent car. A blooming streak of pain set his ass on fire. Akihito tried to cry out and breathe at the same time, resulting in a barking, tortured sort of sound. The pain was deep and so hard that he could feel it traveling up his body to claw at his throat while gagging his mouth. The second blow came before Akihito had truly recognized and processed the first hit; the sound he made was even more torn and ragged. 

“Gah!” he screamed as the volley of smacks landed on his rippling flesh. Asami struck him with a fury that the boy had never experienced, even during the roughest of sex. He immediately bucked up, and Asami growled wrathfully. The man forced him back down, pushing his neck with his large hand. 

He could hear Asami start to breathe heavily, a sign that the harsh blows were taking a toll on him as well. 

Akihito lost count of how many times Asami spanked him. He was walloping him with his full force, using his wide, open palm. Akihito’s skin burned, tears gathering unbidden in the corners of his hazel eyes. Sweat slicked his entire body, his breathe shallow and harsh. The crime lord’s grunts were primal, punctuating every blistering smack. 

Finally, his arm slowed, the slaps lessening and lightening, until he stopped moving all together. He released his hold on Akihito’s neck, but one palm stayed on the flayed, blushing skin of his butt. Asami collapsed on top of Akihito, his forehead dipping into the pool of sweat between Akihito’s shoulder blades. His breathing was ragged, as if he had just climaxed, but he had not gotten hard during the punishment. 

Akihito licked his dry lips, feeling Asami’s exertion as his stomach, filled by deep pants, was pushing into Akihito’s side. The photographer used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead. They stayed like that for some time, maybe minutes, allowing their breathing to slow and their minds to calm. 

Eventually, Akihito thought he might be able to speak, but Asami beat him to the punch. “Are you––I am––” He seemed to be wordless, only able to emote anything by exhaling forcefully through his nose. “Akihito, say something.”

“Did I help?” His voice was raw and heated, but as strong as titanium. 

Asami jolted away from the boy, drawing a deep, opened mouth gasp as if he were emerging from water. Akihito gingerly pushing himself up, spine cracking as he sat on his lover’s lap. When his wounded flesh came into contact with Asami’s hard thighs, the tears that cloistered in his eyes spilt over, wetting his cheeks. 

“I wanted you to feel in control, again,” he sniffed as Asami’s hands stroked his back soothingly, misunderstanding the crime lord’s strange face. “I knew you needed to let out some of your aggression, and sex has always comforted me.” 

Arms, strong as a shark cage, crushed Akihito to Asami’s chest. The photographer hiccuped, his lips quivering and as the adrenaline wore off, he realized how utterly stupid he had been. “I’m sorry, Ryu,” he blubbered, tears dripping onto the pressed silk suit. “I just wanted to help, and I thought…I thought…”

What had he been thinking?

“My beautiful boy,” Asami’s voice was strangled. “I am sorry, Akihito. So sorry. Please, forgive me.”

Asami’s voice trembled. Akihito pushed away from his embrace, his mouth hanging open. “Huh?” That was not what he expected. 

“I broke the number one rule. I lost control, and struck you in anger,” Asami could not look at his lover’s lower lip trembling. He stared out the window, at the blurred neon lights and the silhouettes of people that danced like shadows in the night. “I’ll have Suoh take you to the condo, so you can collect your things.”

“What?” Akihito shrieked. He grabbed Asami’s chin and forced the man to look at him. Gold eyes were empty, void of any emotion and that scared him more than anything else in his life. “How can you say that?”

Asami pulled his hands off of his face. “I beat you. I hurt you. And if I did it once, I am liable to do it again. It’s better if you leave now, before it happens again. Before I hurt you worse than I already have.”

What? No! That wasn’t what was supposed to happen! “I’m sorry!” He fisted his lover’s shirt, jerking it out of the belt and away from its neatly tucked confines in the Armani suit pants. He buried his head in Asami’s chest. “I’m sorry, Ryu! Please don’t make me leave!” he sobbed. “It’s my fault! I pushed you to do it. I thought it would make you feel better. I’m sorry!”

Please, don’t make me leave. 

Fire burned in Asami’s eyes. “You little fool,” he whispered harshly. “It isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I should have known better, should have been able to control myself. This is my doing.” He had lost control entirely, with his actions and his words. Such words were not fit for the boy’s sensitive ears, and harsh blows were not meant for his delicate skin. A side of him he thought to be dead with Kokoro was reemerging, and Asami knew that it was going to get worse, before it got better. This only scratched the surface of what he was capable of, and Akihito did not need to see his demonic deeds. Being held hostage in Hong Kong ensured that he was ignorant of lengths Asami could go to––would go to, to avenge and reclaim. Oh yes, it would be much better if the relationship ended before Akihito’s illusion was shattered by cold reality.

“No,” Akihito furiously shook his head. “I wanted it. I wanted to help you, to give you that release. I know it makes you feel better. You feel better now, don’t you?”

“Akihito,” Asami whispered again. His hands ran up and down Akihito’s arms, fearful of the bruises that encircled his upper arms like slave cuffs. “I don’t deserve you. Seeing to my needs so selflessly. My beautiful boy. Thank you.”

The boy sealed his own fate again and again. He was willing to be tethered to Asami, to bear witness to his egregious sins yet love him. He was willing to fall down the rabbit hole, to plunge into the inky abyss that was so deep, he would never surface again. Damned be his soul, Asami would not stop him. He would lock Akihito in a golden cage, and the boy would keep watch like a lighthouse shining through the darkness to ships lost at sea. He would be Asami’s anchor to the sun, an angelic reminder to fight against the surrounding darkness. 

At last, Asami Ryuichi accepted Akihito’s love and permanence in his life. They would descend to Hell together, and rise up to Heaven as well. 

“Did I help?” Akihito asked once more, sounding pitifully hopeful, even to his own ears. He was looking for a silver lining to this black storm cloud, something to salvage this car ride and keep Asami by his side. 

“Yes,” Asami breathed, and Akihito relaxed into him. He could tell that Asami was also more relaxed, the tension lifting now that some of his aggression had been exorcised. “Thank you,” he brushed a kiss across Akihito’s forehead. 

The photographer flashed him a tentative smile as he climbed off his lap. He winced as the rough cloth of his pants scratched his red bottom. His eyes widened and his cheek flamed brightly as he looked at Asami’s trousers. A dark cum stain bloomed like a flower. “Oops.”

“It’s fine, I assure you.” Asami helped him adjust his clothes. “I can live with only my pants being soiled by our conversation.” He was putting it politely, but Akihito understood what he was asking. He wanted to know if their relationship had been irrevocably damaged, if the trust had been severed. Taking Asami’s hand in his own, he squeezed. “I meant what I said, Ryuichi. I love you.”

Asami actually smiled at him, and pleasure burst in his chest. That smile said more than any soul searching kiss ever could. “Thank you, Akihito.” 

It was not a love confession, but it was a start. Akihito was immensely pleased with the car ride, despite his blushing butt. “Do you have any other secrets you need to tell me?” he chuckled, trying to mask his nerves. “Like, are you married or anything?” He would feel like a total whore if there was a Mrs. Asami somewhere in the world.

“No.”

“What happened to Hisana’s mother?” Akihito was not sure he wanted to know. Maybe Hisana lived with the woman, and that was why she did not have a room at the penthouse. But then, he remembered their conversation: busy parents kept her away from the family home. He kept her away. Akihito had probably even taken her room. Oops. 

“Kokoro died,” Asami replied tersely. He obviously did not want to talk about her. The car stopped. They had arrived at Sion. 

“Oh.” But he had to know. “Did you love her?”

Suoh opened the door. Mahdi and the other guards were getting out of the black Mercedes that had followed behind the limo. There were two more men, probably Mahdi’s guards to have their boss’s back, just in case Asami decided to kill the Arab. Asami put one foot out of the car. He looked over his shoulder to the boy who waited with baited breath. “No. I hated her.”

Then she must have been hot. Why else would he have slept with her enough to procreate? No one said anything about Asami’s stained pants. They rode the elevator up to Asami’s office in silence. The fact that Asami hated this Kokoro was strangely comforting but also alarming. She was the mother of his child, yet was easily tossed aside. It would be all the easier to discard Akihito if Asami ever grew bored of them. Still, it gave him hope. As of yet, no one could claim Asami’s heart, but Akihito wanted it more than anything. He was going to do his best to capture his prize. 

He was going to start by finding Hisana, and reuniting the Asami family. 

*

Kirishima, bless his soul, had a change of clothes waiting for Akihito in the office, and a stack of files for Asami. Akihito changed quickly, hissing when his starched jeans scratched his tender tush. The photographer took back every mean thing he had ever said about the secretary. Not having to hunt for Hisana while looking like Aladdin really bolstered his confidence. And what laundry detergent did Kirishima use on his shirt? It felt like he was rolling through soft clouds of Heaven. 

No! Akihito focus. There was no time to trade laundry secrets. There was work to be done. Daughters to find. Holy shit, that sounded creepy. Asami had a kid…

The room was silent and tense when he stepped out of Asami’s private bathroom. The men rimmed Asami’s desk, watching the crime lord flip through files. It must have been the details of the possible suspects. Mahdi met his gaze, and nodded slightly. Akihito felt his face heat up. The Arab assumed he was some badass, worthy of Asami’s ardor, and capable of handling himself under duress. The last part was definitely true; Akihito had been kidnaped, beaten, raped and ransomed enough to be able to not die in hostage situations. 

“Where are we?” he tried to keep his voice steady. Half the battle was putting on the bravado act; people did not ask questions as long as you looked confident. The Arabs would never know it was his first rodeo on this side of the bull. 

If Kirishima was surprised about Akihito’s involvement, he did not voice it. He learned long ago to follow Asami’s lead without question, and at the moment, the fixer allowed his lover to ‘help’. So the secretary answered, “We have just started.”

Duh. Asami had to change pants. That explained why he had not molested him in the bathroom. Then again, it might be hard to get an erection while thinking about your missing daughter. Because yeah, Asami had a daughter. Akihito was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around it. 

“Feilong? Arbatov?” Akihito fired off the two biggest baddies he could think of, sans Asami. 

“No,” Asami set the first file down. “It is someone local, someone close to home.” Though both crime lords had the nerves and the finances to pull this off, they would never think to target a child. The world knew of his family, but never her. They always targeted the photographer. Why attack a dragon’s lair, full of fire-spitting elders, when his treasure moved unguarded?

Only the families she had touched knew that she even existed. 

“Oh,” Akihito shrugged. 

“Asami-sama,” Kirishima reported. “Those thirty-two files you have are all the families who are aware of, or have come into contact with Hisana. I have narrowed the list down to the five most likely candidates.” To save time, he had to make some decisions about relevant information. 

“Who?” Asami tossed the file on Matsumoto Natsuo away. The old fool was the saccharine headmaster of her preparatory school. He knew everyone’s business, had blackmail on all the families who’s young attended the institution, and made millions protecting those secrets. And the children, always the children. It was a breeding ground for the elite of the elite, for the few that would rule Japan openly or secretly. 

Asami had been such a proud father, and naturally sent his prodigy of a daughter to Shinjuku Academy for Virtuosos. That school, and the students, had been more trouble than it was worth. If he had a time machine, Asami would insist on homeschooling Hisana, social development and skills be damned. Still, Matsumoto was a consummate professional. He would not have permitted this. 

“Isegawa Tomomi,” Kirishima pressed the button on his clicker. The flatscreen pulsed brightly in the dim room, and hooded eyes squinted as they adjusted to the neon light. Isegawa’s mugshot slid onto the screen, along with his credentials. He was born in Fukagawa. No wife, but four children by three different women. He mostly dabbled in oil and fossil fuels. When fracking became popular, he nearly outbid Asami for the rights to the Ito District. 

“No,” Asami shook his head. That was business, and the Ito District was not worth the money he poured into it. 

“Second is Benedict Edmundson.” He was a Brit who had seen Hisana in Bora Bora. Asami had taken her there when she was sixteen, and the man had been smitten. He proposed marriage on the spot, and when he could not secure even an omiai, he tried to curry her favor. Four years later, his gifts were extravagant, but always trashed.

“Given the nature of the abduction, and the precursing attempt on Takaba, I doubt he is responsible,” Kirishima said while the assembled party memorized his information. “Though given his prolonged obsession with Hisana, prudence required me to include him.”

Mahdi sneered. Upon returning to Britain, he would send men to have a chat with Edmundson. He would not risk Hisana living in the same country with an obsessed man, who might stalk her or worse. Especially not after this failed birthday reunion. 

Edmundson was too poor to have done this. Though moderately wealthy, he was an average middle class Englishman. He was not part of organized crime, of which this certainly was. However, he could have been manipulated, or coerced into giving up information on Hisana. Asami agreed it was best to keep tabs on him. The man was a ticking time bomb. 

“Next is Matsuhara Tamaki,” Kirishima swallowed. “He is the only one on the list who has a personal grudge against Hisana.” The boy, for he was just a year older than she, and so young, had struck her after she refused to escort him to a party. 

The fixer stilled, and no one dared breathe. Slowly, he set the file down, flinched, and then carefully folded his hands. He looked calm, statuesque, but Akihito could see how tightly clamped together his hands were. Skin was white, anemic-looking, and so taught it was about to rip. If he moved at all, he would break the bones in his hands. “That little shit––”

“Asami-sama,” interrupted Suoh. He looked between the two men that he lived side-by-side with, as he stepped between them and the television, severing their link to the past. “Unless there has been a miracle, Matsuhara Tamaki is still comatose in Tokyo University Hospital.”

“His family then,” Kirishima glared daggers at the handsome boy on the screen. “They blame Hisana for Tamaki’s condition.” It was misplaced blame. The girl had nothing to do with it; that had been solely Kirishima’s handiwork. 

Akihito so wanted to know what happened to Matsuhara Tamaki. “Then why attack Takaba?” argued Suoh. “This seems to be directed at Asami-sama, not Hisana.”

“I agree,” Kirishima gritted out through clenched teeth. “Hence the rest of the list.” The secretary was thorough, not discounting any possibility. Still, Suoh did not budge until he moved on to the next candidate. “Kawaguchi Akina––”

“Wait,” Mahdi finally found his voice. He motioned for the secretary to go to the previous profile, wanting to look at the blinding smile of Matsuhara Tamaki, one of the last he ever gave. “What did he do to Hisana?”

“That doesn’t concern you,” Suoh was very protective of his boss, his daughter, and their personal lives. Though the boy may have courted her, that did not permit him access to their secrets. Or Kirishima’s. 

“It does if he took her!” roared the Arab. He was lithe and muscular, but only had a third of Suoh’s body mass. If Mahdi towered over Hisana, Suoh was King Kong, and Akihito thought it was foolhardy to argue with him. He could crush Mahdi’s skull like a grape. 

“Suoh, stand down,” Asami managed to extract his hands from their pallid death grip. “It’s okay.”

The bodyguard stepped aside so Asami could look squarely at Mahdi. The crime lord played his apprehension, like he would any other average joe who challenged him. He put a cigarette between his teeth, and lit it, before taking a long, slow drag. Blowing it out, he drawled, “He was another of Hisana’s boyfriends.” Asami said the word like a religious person whispered a swear. “But after she refused his advances, he struck her. Kirishima repaid him, tenfold.”

Tamaki had been seeing Hisana for about four months when the incident happened. He had invited her to the country club, for an evening with his boys. Sensing what kind of arty it was, Hisana refused him in front of his entourage. He was a little boy, trying to be the bad ass all men feared, and had the trite short temper. He slapped her a few times, enough to bruise her cheek and split her lip. His daughter had fought back like the hellion she was, and managed to rip the boy’s ear off. School security had separated them, and sent them both to Tokyo University Hospital, after informing the police. Asami had been livid, but Kirishima was enraged. He beat the boy senseless in his private room, while his buddies went out for coffee. 

“Oh, shit,” Akihito softly swore. Suoh was not the only one protective of Hisana. Kirishima gave him such a pounding that he was in a coma. The secretary did not look remotely remorseful. 

“You should have just killed him,” one of Mahdi’s men grumbled. Behind his thick, curling beard, he was pale. “It would have been merciful.”

“Mercy isn’t what that punk deserved,” snarled the four eyed secretary. “Let him, and his family, suffer!”

“Enough!” Mahdi stepped between the two, holding his arms out. “We can’t change what happened, anymore than we can heal that camel shit. The first twelve hours are the most critical, and we can’t waste time arguing!” His voice clapped like thunder. For a moment, he sounded like a young Asami, capable but still finding his way. Brown eyes looked at Kirishima. “Who is next on your list?”

“Kawaguchi Akina,” Kirishima acted like the tangent had never happened. The rest of the room settled into uneasy silence, watching the stats flicker onto the screen. They memorized them as quickly as they could read, knowing every tidbit was vital. It was highly likely that one of these men had taken Hisana. Two hours down, ten remaining.

“He is an ex-business parter of Asami-sama. We had a weapons trade scheduled years ago, but after finding out that Kawaguchi bought and sold the weapons from a Honduras terrorist group, we backed out of the deal. He lost sixty-million and was forced to find a new buyer. Unfortunately for him, he found an undercover Interpol agent. He was sentenced to fifteen years in prison.”

An arms dealer. Typical, Akihito scoffed. The other big shots had been original, but Kawaguchi was just a pissed off business parter. Maybe if Asami did not screw everyone over, he would have some allies instead of all enemies. At the same time, the photographer applauded his lover’s scruples. Many would not care if they dealt with terrorists, but his lover refused. That alone reaffirmed Akihito’s decision to stay by Asami’s side. 

“How does he know about Hisana?” Mahdi asked. His sharp mind was analyzing every nugget of information, looking for any lead. Though he had been intimately involved with Hisana for just over eight months, he had known her the entire time she was at Oxford. Something that seemed odd or random at the time could have an ulterior motive that lead them to the kidnapper. 

“She threw up on him,” Asami said stiffly. “At a state dinner for gifted children.” She had been seven, and acted like the gold embossed invitation was for hanging the sun. She insisted they attend, so she could bask in her glory, and he indulged her. At the dinner, in her sparkling couture dress, she decided that she did not like tomatoes, and vomited the offending fruit all over Kawaguchi’s plate and lap. The spoiled devil resumed eating as if nothing had happened, flicking any tomatoes off of her plate. 

Mahdi chuckled, and Kirishima spoke over him. “Lastly, there is Kurosaki Hiroshi. Kokoro’s father.”

He would be the logical choice, but Asami was not convinced he had the balls or bucks to pull it off. Though Kokoro’s family had money, it was not nearly enough to buy kidnappers. At most, they were aiding a more sinister partner. And that opened up possibilities like Feilong and Mikhail. 

“Get men on all of them,” the fixer ordered. “I don’t care what they do, what laws they break, who they kill, I want all of them interrogated within the hour.”

It was a tall order, impossible even. But Kirishima Kei specialized in the impossible. “Of course, Asami-sama,” both he and Suoh lifted their cellphones to their ears. 

Something was bothering Akihito, deep in his lower intestine. And it was not crappy sushi. The men who had tried to take him were foreign. They sounded almost Eastern European. Not Japanese. Was Asami looking at the wrong people? 

“My entire arsenal is at your disposal,” Mahdi was promising. 

“I may use it––”

“Asami-sama,” Suoh’s low voice shook. He snapped his phone shut, and squeezed his eyes closed tightly, bracing for the lightning storm. “A package has arrived for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, as well as the Kudos and reviews. They keep me going, and inspire me to write! So a thank you to: lovefinder, naomizuke, fayre sholeh, elly96, BitterRose95, Jambee, Amelita, Lusia, Vikky Q, faro-faro, Tatsumma (Elicia_chan), Yaoifav456, xDarklightx, Chu, Allenotna, and Fanfic3112. I read all of your reviews over and over again. This has been a particularly bad week for me, so thank you for the support. Being a part of this community is a pleasure, and I asm so grateful to every one of you!
> 
> And I am taking a poll: do you want drama and violence in the next chapter, or do you want the backstory on how Asami came to be a daddy? Both will be done, the order just depends on your preference. In the next chapter, we will find out what was delivered, who the foreign henchmen are, and who the baddy is. You lovelies get half of the say, and Fanfiction.net gets the other half. Whichever choice has more votes will be the one that is written. Until next time!


	7. How Much I Love You

Chapter Seven:

He had seen this in movies. Body parts and threatening messages were the only things that came in unmarked packages. Whatever it was could only be bad, especially for Hisana. Once upon a time, Akihito would have thought he was overreacting, that movies were made to be dramatic and to entertain, but they certainly were not real. Watching the men spring into action, Akihito knew that this package was a big deal, possibly life-threatening. 

Kirishima was going down in the elevator before Asami could even speak. Suoh was barking orders in the fixer’s stead. The men were clearing off the coffee table, Kuroda and the police were on standby, and his personal physician had been notified that there might be emergency surgery. He had treated Hisana before. Gloves and guns came out of hidden cubby holes in the wall. Before he had finished ordering the men about, Suoh grabbed Akihito by his shoulder and threw him into the bathroom, trying to preserve his naivety. 

All the while, Asami sat at his desk, a stone idol with a face as expressionless as a Noh mask. 

“Stay in here, kid,” Suoh deposited him in the far corner of the decked out bathroom. 

“What? No!” the photographer spun around. “Ryu needs me!” Whatever was in that parcel could shatter his family, could change all of their lives and would certainly bring the fury of God to Tokyo. 

“Listen, Takaba. There is a good chance that they sent an arm or a leg. You don’t need to see this,” Suoh glanced over his shoulder at his boss. Asami had not moved, and did not seem to be aware that he had manhandled his lover away from the room. 

“Get out of my way!” Akihito tried to push past the Godzilla-like bodyguard. He was going to be there, to help Asami any way he could. Cover his eyes, or get ride of the bloody stump…oh, shit. He was going to be sick. He clutched his stomach, feeling it roil just beneath his skin. Suoh noticed, and lifted the seat on the western style toilet. 

Light brown eyes clouded as he shook his head, and when he spoke, his voice was gruff. Akihito was doubled over, but stilled when Suoh used his given name. “Akihito,” Suoh never used it. It was one of those unspoken rules that Asami had, but the fact that he spoke to Akihito now as a man, and not as an indulged lover, spoke volumes. He was not playing around. “If it is––” his voice broke and he had to take a few steadying breaths before he could speak again.

“If it is a body part, then we know she is expendable. That they will kill her if they haven’t already, and that everything we are doing is pointless.” It was stupid to mutilate hostages that you planned to ransom; family members paid less for spoiled captives. “That’s when he will need you to be able to smile.”

“I don’t follow,” Akihito stood up straight. He still wanted to run to Asami’s side, but even if he had both arms working, he would never have made it past Suoh. 

“For a long time, it was just them. She was with Asami-sama before even Kirishima and I. If we don’t get to her by sunrise,” Akihito noticed as Suoh did not say Hisana’s name as a way to distance himself emotionally. “She will be killed. And Asami-sama will lose himself if you aren’t there to be his crutch.” Protecting the boy before him was quickly becoming paramount, as he was Asami’s link to the goodness in life, and was very possibly his last link to sanity. 

Akihito’s feet were rooted to the spot. He might have actually sunk knee deep into the floor, for try as he might to get to Asami, his feet would not budge. He understood exactly what Suoh clumsily explained. Only Akihito could pull Asami out of the darkness that would consume him; only he could keep that brilliant mind from shattering beyond repair. Asami would need a patient lover, not demanding or judgmental, but someone strong enough to withstand the abuse that was sure to come as the fixer struggled to grasp his first personal loss. Only Akihito could weather the storm, and pull both of them out on the other side. 

“Suoh,” Kirishima called from the door. He did not look surprised that the Chief of Security had pushed the boy into the bathroom, secluding him from the gore. He agreed it was for the best, to protect the photographer and their boss. “It’s here.”

“This stuff will give you nightmares,” the hulking mass said lowly. “You’ll never smile again, kid. You’ll lose a part of yourself if you watch.”

With that, he followed Kirishima to the couches. He left the door open, and unblocked. He was giving Akihito a choice. He could stay the untainted boy he was now, turn a blind eye to Asami’s trauma and deal with the aftermath. Or he could join his lover, be a pillar of strength as the man suffered. He would lose some of himself, but he would be the companion Asami needed. 

He saw Asami sitting on the plush leather couch, in the same spot from where he hunted Mahdi weeks ago. Suoh and Kirishima stood on his either side behind the couch, sentries keeping a watchful eye and ready to spring into action. They were coiled springs, and the slightest tremor would set them off like dynamite. The rest of Asami’s men fanned about the room, hands on their guns as they waited for the reveal. Mahdi paced opposite of Asami, running his hands through dark curls. His men shifted uncomfortably, unlike Asami’s phlegmatic crew. But in the eye of the storm, Asami had never looked more alone. 

Akihito walked confidently out of the bathroom. There was no choice, really. He would do anything for Asami. Now, he was a lifeline through the storm, back to the calm. Just like Asami had been to him after Hong Kong.

Akihito stood between the two sentinels. Suoh glanced at him just once, but quickly averted his eyes forward. He accepted the photojournalist’s decision. Akihito put his good hand on the fixer’s shoulder, and gave it a comforting squeeze. Asami did not even look at him. He was in full crime lord mode now, his stoic face masking any emotion. His hands were steady as he reached for the first package, as if he were the one to send the present and not a father about to know if his child was maimed. 

There were two boxes sitting on the coffee table. One was thin and square, almost like a pizza box. Too thin for body parts, Akihito was sure of it. The other was taller, but more squat. It was almost the size of a head, and that was the one Asami opened first. No one offered to open them in his stead, not even the openly frantic Mahdi. It was his right and duty as the father to bear that burden. 

Akihito though the first box was too small to hold body parts, but Asami knew better. Hisana was so small, a side effect of her premature birth. He blamed all misfortune on Kokoro’s inability to be a good mother. It was always her fault. 

*

He had been fifteen, and the girl who lived down the street was a vixen. Kokoro had been her name. Ryuichi was three years her junior, but he had the body of a Greek god, and Kokoro frequently fought with her boyfriend. He had waited until one such night, and then climbed the lattice work. She had opened her window like Juliet to Romeo, easily succumbing to his golden gaze. Asami Ryuichi always had the Midas Touch. He was a scoundrel, dashing into “virgins” bedrooms and stealing away in the night, never to be seen again. The notches in his belt were impressive, and the boys at the club laughed at the tales of his conquests. 

A month later, there was a knock on the door. Kokoro’s father had drug her across the road with a bruising grip, family lawyer in tow. She was pregnant. 

“She isn’t keeping it!” his grandmother had roared. White spittle flew from curled lips, and deadly shrapnel shot out of her family eyes. “I will not tarnish this family’s name with a bastard!” 

Asami was inclined to agree. He was a boy of fifteen, ripe and invigorated, like a thoroughbred put out to stud. He did not want to forsake his prime for a wife and child. 

“Of course she is keeping it!” the lawyer insisted. The family saw it as their opportunity to foreclose on the Asami goldmine. They had the most money in the province, and acted like the governors of the township. Back then, he had been a steward, not the emperor he was now. A child bound them together for life. 

He did not marry the poor girl, but she did have the baby. It was months of tests, of sitting through family dinners and get-to-know-you’s. The Kurosaki family was oh so polite as the musk of greed clung to their round faces. Asami found himself wishing the babe would die, that it would suffocate in Kokoro’s womb. He had no affection for it, or it’s mother. Let the abomination never see the world, never breathe the polluted air, let the mother smother it before it could open its eyes. 

Kokoro made him hold her hand thorough the pregnancy, begging for the tenderness he refused to give. It was her own revenge for the situation, demanding he show her some compassion, for she was in hell, too. Asami could only sneer at her. This was all her fault. She was the woman, she was the one responsible for birth control. If she had just taken the damn pill on time, or would abort the damn thing, then this would not be happening. Ever the fool, she wanted to keep the baby.

They shouted at each other all the time, in private or with an audience. Asami often bet his friends on how quickly he could make her cry. She had loved her boyfriend, who left her after finding out she was carrying another man’s child. Asami had been willing to give up his rights to the fetus. She could marry the boyfriend as she so desperately wanted to; let them raise the child and play family. He never even needed to see it. The boyfriend refused the offer.

Perhaps he got his wish. In the early days of December, during the first snowstorm, he had been pulled away from gambling at the club to wait hours for the birth. The babe was almost a month early; it was not expected until the middle week of January. He might get lucky, after all. Fortune had certainly been on his side at the blackjack table. The child would likely die soon if it came so early. Perhaps Kokoro wanted him to experience the pain alongside her by breaking his hand. Asami barely felt any pressure. He only could hear the doctors whispering and Kokoro cry out frantically. 

The baby was silent. 

Yes, let it be dead. Let the bond between the families be severed, freeing him to return to his epicurean lifestyle. Kokoro’s family demanded monogamy, and his agreed to the stipulation. He only pretended to comply, and never again did he fuck her. He made that mistake one too many times. The very idea of monogamy chaffed his soul. Asami was polygamous by nature. He would fuck anything with two legs and a hole. Kokora was at least intelligent enough to not think she was anything special.

“Oh my,” one of the nurses gasped in awe just after Kokoro let out a piecing moan. 

And then Asami Ryuichi saw the most beautiful thing in the world: glowing gold eyes stared straight into his. His child looked at the world with calm, detached curiosity. 

“It’s a girl,” the doctor proclaimed before passing her to another nurse. 

A girl. A daughter. He had a daughter. The Asami princess––the world would be hers. He did not notice the doctor press on Kokoro’s stomach, forcing out the putrid afterbirth, or the families demands to see the baby. Despite the ire of the Asamis, they paced the hospital halls with rapt eagerness as they waited for the infant’s arrival. He only had eyes for the broad back of the fat nurse that hid his baby as she preformed the APGAR tests. 

“It is a four, Nakai-sensei.”

Amazing. A month early, yet she was perfectly healthy. His clandestine wishes had fallen on deaf ears. His baby girl was picture perfect, albeit scrawny. Asami could live with that. He could toughen her up. His little miracle had beaten the odds.

“What are you going to name her?” Nakai took the swaddled babe. 

“Hisana,” his voice was much hoarser than expected. Both families looked stunned that he would name the baby. He had been disinterested and even spiteful whenever the baby was debated. Asami tried to cradle her the way his mother made him practice, keeping her head held high. He had a daughter. “Asami Hisana.”

Let it be clear to the world that she was his, and no one else’s. 

“That is a beautiful name,” the fat nurse smiled kindly at the doting father as she tucked a pink beanie on Hisana’s head. 

Asami looked into his own gold eyes, and was suddenly very thankful that Kokoro had not miscarried. The child stared up at him soundless interest. She lay still, with no muscle to move her fragile bones, completely dependent on the man holding her. The girl had no choice but to trust him to care for her. Unlike other infants, who screamed and eschewed from their parents in terror, his daughter gave her trust immediately. She looked only at his strong face, and relaxed, somehow knowing that he would care for her. Even after his strong aversion to the pregnancy, she infallibly relied on him.

“Give her to me,” the new mother demanded. She reached for the baby, “Let me hold her.”

Reluctantly, he did so. Kokoro cooed and kissed Hisana’s face. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she told the princess how beautiful she was, how loved and wanted she was. That was a lie. Asami had neither wanted nor loved her until he met her. Still, gold eyes stayed fixed on him. No matter who held her, who whispered baby talk into her small ears as she was slowly passed around the room, her gazed was solely on him. 

His heart constricted painfully. Asami knew at that moment that he wanted Hisana with him. In his house, as his daughter. His princess. He knew that his family would accept his decision. His mother glowed with the pride of a grandmother, and his grandmother was talking about plans for the nursery. They all wanted her in their lives, it seemed.

As soon as she was weaned, she came home. Kokoro had a room set aside for her, in the same wing of the house as Hisana and Ryuichi, but she was discouraged from using it. Hisana’s room was right next to his. He continued to revel and gamble and fuck, but every night, he came home to a princess in frills learning to walk. Little legs, more rubber than bone, would totter over to him, her arms extended. He would swing her in circles, her giggles more astounding than orchestrated symphonies. For the little girl who listened to poetry and histories at bedtime, he would conquer the world. 

*

His hands were steady as he slit the lips of the box. Asami did not even pause before he opened the lid. Akihito squeezed his eyes tightly shut, bravado dissipating, suddenly unprepared for the macabre. 

“Shoes,” Mahdi sighed. Akihito forced his eyes open. Sure enough, black peep toed shoes with rhinestones and red soles sat on crisp tissue paper. “Those are her favorites. She always wears them when she dances,” the Arab did not bother to mask the relief that was flooding his body. He agreed with Akihito. The big box was surely the only one that would contain a body part. Those were the shoes that she had been wearing at Club Peek. The investigative journalist felt his lungs constrict and then release, letting air and life back inside of him. 

Asami knew better. Limbs could be severed or hacked off. Stumps could be boiled, stripping away flesh and sinew until only milky white bones remained. Bones were the perfect taunt and memorial to send. Bones could fit into any size box. But she had not been gone long enough reduce tissue to bone, so he felt slightly more confident as he slid the box cutter over the tape. 

*

Her first word had been Otouchan––Daddy. Small hands, far too thin to be the typical chubby baby, had grabbed ahold of his tie and demanded that he look at her. Hisana was not satisfied if he looked anywhere but at her, as if his sole purpose was to observe her every move. “Daddy,” she demanded his eyes. 

Words came very quickly to her, and choppy sentences followed. She was a clumsy, fumbling, bumbling toddler but her mind was sharp. She was as smart as he was, but when she could do three figure multiplication at four in her head, Asami knew she was certifiably brilliant. 

His boyhood friends were amazed by her. They taught her how to count cards, how to wink, and were the first to introduce her to other languages. His best friend, Goya Mitsue used her like frat boys used dogs to secure dates with women, but had a much higher success rate with Hisana. At three, she had perfected toddering up to a woman, and as she wrapped her arms around the woman’s legs, she would whisper, “You so pwetty.” Mitsue swore that there never was a better wingman. 

Soon, it seemed the entire world was enamored with her, and Asami became increasingly nervous about taking her out in public. People snapped photos, laughed at her impish witticisms, and declared that they had never seen a prettier child. The notoriety made him anxious, and his grip on her hand tightened every time they stepped outside the house. He could taste the impending doom in the air, almost like an omen. Someone was targeting his child.

Just after Hisana’s fifth birthday, it came. Kokoro decided she had been separated from her child long enough. She filed for sole custody. He had been twenty. 

*

Akihito instantly recognized the leather miniskirt. It clung masterfully to her ass at Club Peek, inspiring Kou to snap a picture. He knew Kou was taking that picture to the nearest bathroom, but he hadn’t cared then. Now he did. He would have to erase it before Asami found out. 

No body parts, he sighed gratefully. She was still in danger, but it was not imminent. They had time to save her. 

“Get ice!” Kirishima roared, knocking Akihito to the side. The secretary grabbed the crime lord’s wrist, trapping his hand in mid air. “Now!”

“Don’t look kid,” Suoh turned his staggering body around, so his back was to Asami. Akihito threw his head over his shoulder, craning his neck. Asami brandished the box cutter like a sword, swearing and spitting. Pinning the crime lord’s arms to his sides before he could kill someone, Suoh dragged him over the back of the couch and away from the boxes. Akihito tripped, trying to move so Suoh could have the room to cage Asami. And he did not want to get hit by one of Asami’s flailing limbs. 

“Let me go, you son of a bitch!” Asami shouted. 

Grabbing the back of the couch, Akihito hoisted himself to his feet. Kirishima was screaming for ice as he tried to help Suoh with Asami. Guards were tossed, like leaves in a typhoon as Asami shouted, not sure which orders to follow. Kill them and find her echoed between shouts for ice and pleading with Asami to calm down. He heard large chunks of vomit hit the floor as Mahdi lost control of his stomach. 

“Asami-sama!” Suoh grunted as the crime lord elbowed him in the gut. Asami was hard packed muscle, but Suoh was a mammoth. He could withstand him any day, but it still hurt. “She can live without an ear!”

Akihito had never seen Asami completely lose it before. Gold eyes were the wildest he had ever seen, and so blinded by rage that he could only see the thin, fleshy ear pinned to the leather skirt. It was artful, like something out of a horror movie. The pink ear was pinned to the skirt with an earring. The stone was blue, and the size of his finger nail. Pierced between the ear and stud was a thin strip of paper. To help you hear me now. 

“Asami-sama!” Suoh pled. 

One of Mahdi’s men grabbed the ear. With no container to pack it in, he tossed the half empty whiskey bottle over his shoulder. It cracked on the wall, dripping like a spider’s web. He dropped he ear into the icy broth, and Akihito understood. They were trying to keep it viable, so they could reattach it when Hisana came home. The weightless flap of skin floated at the top of the water, almost translucent as the water rippled. 

“Asami-sama, we can get it to Reiko-sensei!” Kirishima tried to tell the man who might as well have been deaf. “The cut was clean! He can reattach it!”

Assuming there was a body to put it on. 

“Ryu!” Akihito heard his own voice joining in the clamor that tried to calm the fixer. 

Suoh held the fighting man in an iron grip but rage fueled Asami. Suoh was iron, but he was platinum, and he broke his man’s hold as easily as he tore paper. Kirishima lunged for him, but Asami grabbed the man who carried Hisana’s ear to the elevator. Spinning the Arab around, Asami body slammed him up against the wall. The ice bucket slipped from his hands. Ice scattered on the floor like diamonds, and the ear slid away. Thoughtless, Akihito pushed his way past the churning guards, and dove for the ear. He grabbed it before it could slip under the bookshelf. 

“It’s just an ear!” Asami roared into the foreigner’s ear. The man flopped like a fish, trying to get the air back in his body. Still holding the man, he slid the box cutter open. “She can live without an ear!” 

And then Asami jerked down. The man screamed, ripping his head away. The blunt knife still sliced through flesh, cutting the flap of skin. Mahdi’s employee seemed eager to rend flesh from skull as he pulled, trying to get away from Asami’s assault. 

“Ryuichi!” Kirishima knocked the knife out of Asami’s hand.

As the secretary pressed a handkerchief to the foreigner’s bleeding head, Mahdi and Suoh tried to tackle Asami. He dodged Suoh easily, knowing the man so well that he could predict his moves before he made them. The fixer staggered, pulling his gun out of the holster. Mahdi was there, gun drawn right at Asami’s head. 

“I will shoot you right here if you don’t calm down,” he threatened in English. It was much better than his Japanese, and he knew everyone could speak it. Everyone but Takaba. 

Akihito was trying to scoop ice into his hands, trying to keep the ear cold. The ice was melting quickly as Akihito’s own body temperature rose in response to the adrenaline that pumped through him. His hand shook; ice fell through his fingers. The ear was getting warm, and Asami was about to get shot. His lover was too berserk to care.

Suoh pulled his gun out and pointed it at Mahdi. As much as he wanted his boss to calm down, he as not going to let the upstart boyfriend shoot him. Then both members of the family would be in danger of dying, if not dead. That was unacceptable. 

“You can shoot me, Asami, but not my men. They’re trying to help you,” Mahdi spat out, still speaking in English.

With three cubes and an ear cupped in his hands, Akihito shot up to his feet. He did not even think, he just acted as he threw himself between the two criminals. Asami’s black pupils constricted in recognition, and his arm shook. He was too far gone to care about shooting Mahdi, but he knew Akihito by sight; he would not deliberately hurt his lover. Broad shoulders heaved as his breath came out like the snorts of a horse. “Move,” his voice rumbled like a volcano. 

“No,” Akihito shook his head. “We’re wasting time. She’s alive, and you aren’t focused on finding her.”

“Akihito! Move!” the fixer snarled.

“Ueda,” Akihito dropped the melting ice and ear into his outstretched hands. “Take this to Reiko-sensei. Him too,” he jerked his head towards the quivering bodyguard. Kirishima had helped staunch the blood flow, but he was traumatized. Blue lips formed an O as he struggled to breathe.

“Yes, Takaba-san,” the man accepted the calm order. He cradled the ear like his own child, and he helped the bleeding man to the elevator. 

The office was destroyed. Water and blood pooled on the floor, the table was overturned in the chaos, and everyone was breathing heavily. Asami looked deranged but stared at his lover’s calm face. Akihito held his hand up in surrender. It was a move that Asami could recognize, total submission. Hazel eyes locked onto gold ones, and Akihito silently demanded his lover’s attention. “We don’t have the time to fuck around! We’re racing the clock, and as much as it sucks, we can only react. We have to be smart, right now.”

Time was precious. Less than ten hours were guaranteed to them, seven according to Suoh’s body part theory. “You need to focus.”

“Takaba is right,” Kirishima put his hand on Mahdi’s arm; he spoke in Japanese as well, and Akihito was very thankful. English hurt his head. He only understood bits and pieces of the tongue twisting language. Mahdi hesitantly dropped his arm. “We have men dispatched to the suspects’ homes. We’ll have a lead within the hour.”

“No!” The list of suspects had unsettled him. He knew there was more to the story, pieces that his lover was overlooking. “The men who tried to kidnap me last month––Havi and Axel. They were foreign, like European or something.” They were not two separate incidences. The same mastermind orchestrated it, and it would be stupid to only focus on Japanese suspects.

“Kirishima,” Asami finally lowered his weapon. He tried to focus on the men, on something other than his child writhing in pain, alone in a cell. She could live without an ear. There was no danger of bleeding out. “Who has deals in Europe?” Most of Japan traded intercontinentally, but the list of people who knew of Hisana was short. Only thirty-two families. The crosscheck would be swift. 

“Havi?” Mahdi interrupted. Europe was a heavily populated continent, but Havi and Axel were ethnic names. “They have to be Eastern European. Bosnian or Lithuanian, maybe.”

Asami glanced at his secretary, who was still next to Mahdi. The man’s mouth was pinched, but he nodded almost imperceptibly. Suoh had broken out into a cold sweat as he crept closer as well. Without warning, Ryu grabbed Akihito’s arm, and jerked him behind the fixer so quickly, that Akihito was not sure what the difference was between left and right. Guns clicked as the safeties were pulled back. 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Mahdi held his hands up in the air. He was a quick draw, but bullets were faster. Asami’s other two goons held their guns at Mahdi’s henchman, who looked as confused as Akihito felt. 

“Or Serbia,” Asami drawled. Mahdi’s caterpillar eyebrows knitted together. He had no idea what the crime lord was talking about. “Why did you send men to Serbia? Who were they meeting?”

“Serbia?” Mahdi repeated slowly. “No one. I don’t deal with them. No one in the family does.”

“My man at Interpol flagged a forged passport with your name going into the country,” Asami sneered. His gun started to shake. “Don’t lie to me again!”

“I’m not!” Mahdi cried. “My uncle’s operations are wealthy, but small. We don’t have the manpower to waltz into any country we please.”

That was the truth. Abbas Al Madani dealt in oil and smuggables. He would move anything for a price, but he was only the middleman. Clients came to him, not the other way around. And Mahdi was not high up Abbas’s chain of command. Though blood, he was not in the direct line. At most, he would be a trusted lieutenant, and the way he fraternized with other syndicates made even that possibility tenuous. No, Mahdi could not be in league with the Serbs unless he was planning to betray his uncle. That would be too bold of a move. 

“Someone is using your name to cross borders,” Asami lowered his gun. The others followed suit. “And that is problematic.”

“I’ve been with Hisana for the pat year,” Mahdi reminded him. He meant that he had every opportunity to harm her, and had not. Asami heard that they were living together, and fucking like rabbits on every surface of the apartment. Only Asami should do things like that with Akihito; no one else. Especially not his daughter. 

More importantly, it also meant that Asami had been right. Mahdi had not been testing his response. Mahdi had nothing to do with it. Kirishima came to the same conclusion. “It was a test of our response to Hisana.” 

If Asami was tracking Mahdi, it was because of Hisana. Only she gave the Arab value. Asami tipped his hand unwittingly. He revealed just how important Hisana was, and his enemies immediately capitalized on it. His daughter was paying for his rash headedness. He should have just hired an assassin to take Mahdi out the moment they became Facebook official, rather than biding his time and hoping that Hisana would break up with him. “Kirishiama,” Asami finally turned his attention back to the files on his desk. “Who is dealing with the Serbs?”

“It would have to be Kawaguchi,” Akihito chimed in from behind his lover. “He’s the one who deals with cartels.”

“No,” Asami’s eyes flickered back and forth as he remembered the message. To help you hear me now. That was personal, that was aimed directly at him. The attackers only knew about Hisana in passing, and had lucked into her coming to the country. Akihito had been the previous target. They were striking at Asami’s core, at the people he cared about most. “It’s Lorenzo Gallo.”

He was the head honcho of the Honduran drug cartel. When Asami learned that Kawaguchi was negotiating with terrorists, he had stopped the deal. Gallo pled with Asami. He needed the deal to go through. The cartel was a subset of Columbia, and they did not deal well with inefficacy. Should he fail to secure the deal, his family would be tortured and killed. Asami had not give a rat’s ass about Gallo’s family. If he could not protect them, he should not have had one, and so he terminated the deal. 

Rumor had it that Del Olmo, the leader of the Columbian cartel El Lado Negro, had not taken the failure lightly. He liked to skin his victims before stretching their faces like canvas on his walls as macabre art. Gallo’s screams had fallen on deaf ears; he wanted to make sure that Asami had plenty of reasons to listen to him now. He had even given him an extra ear to help. 

“Kawaguchi would have known where to strike and when,” Kirishima agreed. “Even from prison, his reach is far.”

“Is he still in prison?” Akihito asked as they rushed down the elevator. So many of them were crowded into the claustrophobic space that a fire marshal would have had a field day. Luckily, Asami always ignored trivial rules. 

“Yes,” Suoh answered lowly. 

“How will we get in?” the photographer asked. Prisons had rules, were run by the government, and generally frowned upon people roughing up the inmates. Even if Asami had people on the inside, like Yoh in Hong Kong, it could still take time to get information. 

“Asami-sama is friends with the warden,” the man nodded to his boss, who was jabbering away on the phone. “By the time we get there, he will be waiting unofficially in an unguarded cell.”

Akihito nodded his head. It felt like half of the world was moving against his lover. South Americans, Eastern Europeans, Serbians…even the Japanese were against Asami. He knew that his lover had allies, but they were useless in situations like this, when Asami kept his secrets close to his chest. Right now, he stood alone, and it looked like he was perilously close to falling to his knees. All Akihito could do was try to catch him.

The ride to the prison was relatively quick. No one spoke, no one moved. The cars moved in a caravan, more falling behind the lead car. It could have been a political procession, but Akihito knew better. It was the real emperor of Japan that was moving, not some old gasbag with no real power. The extra bodyguards and private police force were because of Suoh. The long time security chief knew that more hands would be needed. The streets were going to run red. 

Meanwhile, Kirishima was calling in favors, getting any information he could about Gallo. Was he in the country? Current business deals, the status on his family (Akihito was pretty sure that they were dead, hence the revenge but he was not going to say anything), were there any properties in Japan under his name or aliases? And then he started asking about Kawaguchi. Akihito quietly watched Asami. He kept talking in another language, something like Spanish. Kirishima was not the only one working to ferret out information, and he wondered if he should contact some of his sources. They would know nothing of Gallo, but Kawaguchi had been big news. The journalism community had an extensive memory, and they might offer up a few leads.

*

“You can’t keep me from her, Ryuichi!” the woman had screamed. She stood in his parlor, hands bawled into chalky fists as she shouted. They had just returned from the cinema, choosing a father-daughter outing rather than attending afternoon tea at the governor’s with the rest of the family. Asami had a lifetime to schmooze, but Alice in Wonderland was only playing one day. “I am her mother!”

“You may have birthed her, but you have been absent from her life for years!” he snarled back. “You drop in for special occasions, and pretend that she doesn’t exist for the rest of the year! That is hardly being a motherly figure.” He was more than capable of providing Hisana nurture and affection, which did surprise him. If he was not able to see to her needs, his mother was overjoyed to play grandmother. Hisana was well provided for.

“Because you shut me out of it! You deliberately keep us apart,” a pointy nail jabbed at his broad chest. 

“You see her as a meal ticket,” strong hands loosed his tie, but did not bother to deny the accusation. It was accurate. He was at university now, and he was always the best dressed student. He had an image to maintain as the brightest student and the wealthiest. He was always impeccable, as was his daughter. 

“I love her!” cried Kokoro. “She is my child, and it kills me every time I say goodbye.”

“Then stay. You have a room here.”

“Oh, please!” large blue eyes rolled dramatically. “You force me out every time I try to. You and your family don’t want me here. Or my family. She hasn’t even met my parents!”

Asami walked way from her, dropping his sport coat on the settee. “I only want her associating with the highest caliber of people.” Of which his friends were not, but Asami had a talent for overlooking truths that were inconvenient. 

Kokoro’s eyes narrowed, and she became very still. “Are you calling my family trash?”

He eyed her cooly, “Yes.”

The finite control Kokoro had over her emotions snapped. “I am sorry to have to do this, Ryuichi,” she did not sound sorry at all, as she rummaged through her oversized purse. Eventually, she pulled out a thick manilla envelope that she thrust into his hands, still sealed. “But here. You’ve been served.”

“What’s this?” he tore it open, gold eyes scanning the papers uncomprehendingly. 

“I have filed for sole custody of Hisana,” Kokoro took several deep breaths before stiffening her shoulders, chin defiantly raising. “The court will hear our case next month. Until then, Hisana comes with me.”

He crushed the papers unconsciously. “You can’t––” he roared. 

“I did!” her mouth twisted into a gruesome smirk. “I told them all about your gambling, your debauchery, and your petty crimes. They know that you are a criminal, that you are unfit to be a father, and they are going to give her to me!” Her blue eyes flashed triumphantly. “There is nothing you can do.” The family court judge was a friend of her mother’s; there was no way the Asamis could grease his hands with bribes. 

Flinging the papers across the room, dangerously close to the dancing fire, he seized her arms. “How much?”

“Excuse me?” Kokoro balked.

“How much will it take to make you disappear from our lives forever?” Asami roughly shook her. 

She shoved out of his feeble gasp. Fear was sapping his strength, and she wickedly used that to her advantage. “You might be able to buy my parents, but not me! She is my child, and I am taking her home!”

“She is home now!” 

“Hisana!” Kokoro turned her back to the shaking man. Walking to the parlor entry, she shouted up the grand staircase. “Sweetie, get your coat! It’s Mommy!”

Asami grabbed her arm. “She isn’t going anywhere!”

Red lips pulled back over sharp white teeth like stage curtains. “You can’t stop me! The law is on my side!” She looked back to the stairs. “Hisana!”

“Over my dead body!” Asami roared as he jerked her back into the sitting room. He flung her like a rag doll onto the dark blue couch. Kokoro yelped but the impact knocked the air out of her lungs. They both heard the gentle thuds above them as the ragamuffin princess scampered down the hallway. 

“You don’t have time to fuck your way out of this, Ryuichi,” the mother sneered viciously. “Hisa––!”

His hand clamped down on her bared throat. Kokoro gasped wetly as he squeezed her windpipe. He leaned over her, pressing his soft cock into the junction of her thighs. He was not going to fuck her, though he licked the side of her face. “It takes seconds to snap your neck,” he hissed into her ear. 

Kokoro wheezed. Her red nails clawed at his relentless hand, at his pressed suit, at his gloating face. She tried to kick her legs but he held her down with his weight. Her body flexed and bucked, as if she were in the throes of a mind-shattering orgasm. 

He squeezed tighter. 

“Daddy?” a sweet voice sang from the doorway. 

Both parents looked at their daughter, but neither moved an inch. His daughter’s gaze traveled the room, taking in the scattered papers, her prone sires, and his grip on Kokoro’s neck, so tight that a black bruise was already forming. Pale gold eyes saw every detail as she held the teddy bear he had given her. Kokoro regained her senses first. She waved at Hisana, telling her to run or to help, Asami was not sure. Hisana took a tentative step backwards, as gold eyes met gold eyes.

And he squeezed with all of his strength.  
*

The body was easily disposed of. Her family, the lawyer, and even the police all came by to search for the woman who disappeared on her way to deliver the court papers. Asami was a much worse criminal than she ever knew, so making her vanish had been easy. Mitsue was a good friend. They did not attend her funeral. Hisana was safe from that woman forever, and he would not deign her even her daughter’s final respects. He would sever any bond that other’s tried to form with Hisana. She was his, and his alone. 

Kokoro was not his first kill, nor his last. He would do whatever it took to win. Still, never had a life fluttering to its end beneath his hand felt so good, as it had all those years ago. A decade and a half later, he could still feel her heart stuttering before it went silent. It was his first kill to protect his precious princess, his prize from a terrible one night stand. He would do it again many times, but the first was always special. Like loosing one’s virginity. 

He snapped his phone shut as the motorcade drove the prison gates. Asami relished in the opportunity to do it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So backstory won out by one vote. Since it was close, I tried to throw some drama in there. As an advanced warning, the next chapter is going to contain gore, violence, and foul language. I'm half way through it, and it is a bloody mess. 
> 
> Sorry for the slow updates. It is my birthday this weekend, and I haven't been focused on writing at all. More like, packing for our trip to Cocoa Beach. 
> 
> Hope the cold isn't making anyone too miserable!


	8. Please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this one is brutal. 
> 
> The language is vulgar, the characters are demonic, and it is very bloody and very graphic. You have been warned. 
> 
> This is self-beta'd. Miyanoai is in the middle of finals, and I refused to disrupt school with gore.

Chapter Eight: 

Akiyama Hideki and Kuroda were waiting in the prison lobby. The photographer had not realized that prisons had lobbies, but they were ushered through it quickly. The cameras had been temporarily deactivated, according to Akiyama, the warden. He shook Asami’s hand gruffly, “Kawaguchi is waiting in the hole for you.”

Asami nodded. He was not searched, nor were questions asked when Suoh and Kirishima followed him into the long hallway. Kuroda paced back and forth, prying information from Nakamura. The whole freaking world had known about Hisana, except for Akihito. Go frickin’ figure. He sat in the uncomfortable chairs, scrolling through his phone while he ignored Kou’s calls. His friends wanted to pump him for information, but he should have known that it was too soon. She had only been gone a few hours. 

That was long enough to cut her ear off, though. He thought back to Asami and the Arab guard. The man had done nothing wrong, but rather everything right. He kept it together, tried to keep the ear viable and even get it to the hospital. Yet, Asami punished him. Hacked up his face, nearly punctured his eardrum and went berserk in his own office. The fixer was starting to lose his infamous composure, and quickly. He was right: it kept getting worse. 

Akihito was afraid out what would happen next. Mahdi had Kawaguchi’s mugshot pulled up on his phone, and the photographer leaned in closer. “Do you think he’ll be hard to break?” he asked. 

Mahdi stared at the handsome man. He had a black eye in the picture, and his shoulder length hair was tied behind his head. He could have passed as an aging model after a rough fight in a club, and was definitely wealthy. There was no kindness in his black eyes, no spark of life or compassion. He looked grim and hard, lithely muscled as if the harshness of life had beat any humanity out of him. 

“No,” the man sighed. “He’s going to tell Asami exactly what he wants to know.”

“What do you mean?”

“He knew that we would trace this back to him. He wanted to look Asami in the eye and gloat. He might have supplied Gallo the information, but he had no part in the plan. All Kawaguchi wants is to see Asami realize that Hisana isn’t coming home. That is all the revenge he needs.”

Well, fuck. 

*

Kawaguchi was waiting for Asami. He knelt on the floor of his solitary confinement cell, chained to the cold cement. It was a well lit, soundproofed room. The man’s soulless eyes were closed and his breathing steady. He did not move as the men entered the room. In fact, he did nothing until the door slid shut with a notorious clang. 

“Good evening, gentlemen,” his balmy voice drawled. For someone so emotionless, he always had a soothing voice, like a DJ for NPR. 

“I don’t have time for your games, Kawaguchi,” Asami shrugged out of his suit jacket, not seeing the browning bloodstains near the cuffs. Normally, his faithful men and Hisana’s surrogate uncles would handle the physical aspect of interrogations. No one’s punch packed more wallop than Suoh’s. But this wasn’t business, this was family. Asami needed the release, needed to extract his pound of flesh from every accomplice. “You already know that.”

“Such a shame,” the forty-three year old shook his head dramatically. “I have so few guests from the old days. I confess,” he opened his eyes at last as his lips turned down. “I miss rubbing elbows with the elite. You people understand me so much more than the rabble in here.”

“You caused your own fall,” the fixer began to roll up his sleeves. “The caliber of the inmates does not interest me. I am here for you, who have wronged me for the last time.”

“But Asami-sama,” the man held up his chained hands in mocking supplication. “I have never wronged you. I live to serve, to kiss the dirt on which you walk.” Black eyes flashed. “Just like that little boy cunt you like to fuck.”

Seizing Kawaguchi by his collar, Asami took two steps and threw him against the wall. Iron chains rattled, jerking the man’s arms painfully as his elbows popped out of socket. Yet still they stretched past their limits, Asami pinioning him against the stone. “Where’s Gallo?”

“Gallo?” Kawaguchi’s wet chuckles blew across his ear. “Dead in Columbia. Didn’t you know? Del Olmo got him years ago.” His toes drug across the floor, slightly supporting his weight as he struggled to breathe––not that he showed any discomfort to the frantic fixer holding him. 

Asami pressed the man into the wall as hard as he could, using his torso as leverage to lift him off the ground. Sockets ripping, skin starting to tear and bleed, Kawaguchi’s body weight struggled to pull him down to the ground, effectively collapsing his windpipe. “Del Olmo doesn’t kill his lieutenants,” he hissed. “Honduras is profitable.”

His face was blueish purple, but still he smirked. Straight teeth seemed to grow whiter as oxygen depravation set in. “He tried to assassinate Del Olmo––revenge for his whore. You remember her, right? A huge woman, I’m talking orca fat.”

“If not Gallo, then who did you sell the information to?” All roads led to Kawaguchi. He had to be the leak. His blood rushed, pulse pounding in his ears. He almost could not hear Kawaguchi’s strangled taunts. The man knew that Asami was going to kill him, and the scars and pits that littered his body boasted of his masochism. He would inflict his last wound on the heart of Asami Ryuichi, twisting the knife into the rotted organ. 

“I heard your boy cunt is a good fuck,” he taunted. “I always preferred the heiress you used to flaunt around, but nowadays I make do. I wonder what it’s like to plow his ass. Is he a screamer?”

Asami was snarling like a lion. Kawaguchi’s heart overcompensated, pumping harder to feed his brain. Asami could feel the erratic pulse, proof of his body’s struggle to keep him alive. If he squeezed jut a little tighter, pushed more pressure onto his carotid, his life would snuff out. Kirishima stepped forward. The boss was slowly losing his mind, fueled by the rage of a terrified parent, like Demeter who left the world dehydrated and brunt as she hunted for Persephone. Though dying, Kawaguchi held the power, and killing him silenced the only lead to Hisana. “Asami-sama,” he warned lowly. 

Gold eyes flicked backwards, but he understood what his man was saying. Lowering Kawaguchi until his heels touched the ground, he did not loosen his grip. They were pressed together, almost embracing as lovers would, and Kawaguchi’s gut titillated at the idea of pinning Asami Ryuichi down, and fucking him as he squeezed the life out of the fixer. 

“If not Gallo, who?” the crime lord demanded again. 

“No one,” Kawaguchi wheezed. He tried to keep his chest from heaving, but his body greedily sucked in air, paying his brain and wishes no mind. “I never needed to. I make more money in prison than I ever did out.”

“Revenge, then,” Suoh supplied when Asami could not speak. 

Kawaguchi glanced the behemoth’s way, but spoke only to Asami. “If I wanted revenge, I wouldn’t go after your boy. There’s no sport in it, no honor. You didn’t attack my family.”

And he meant it. Men like Asami, like Mikhail Arbatov, and Kawaguchi were nothing if they did not have their honor. Their words bound them. Promises were meaningless otherwise and then bullets would fly before betrayals could blossom. “I’ve got something much more apropos for you.”

It was a bluff to save face, to give Asami a reason to kill him. Kawaguchi would seek vengeance one day, but the punishment would fit the crime. “It wasn’t Akihito that Gallo took,” he sneered through pinched lips. “It was Hisana,”

“Your daughter?” Kawaguchi’s eyes flew open in surprise. Wars were started over children, brutally and violently climaxing if the little ones were harmed. Only a fool targeted a child. Kawaguchi himself took cathartic therapy in dismembering child molesters. It passed the time in prison. “She’s eight.”

“Nineteen.” Twenty in December. 

“Close enough,” Asami jerked away from the prisoner. Kawaguchi sighed as the pressure in his arms dissipated, though they still hung limply. The pain was all consuming, burning fresh like struck match. He saw the pacing man, and made a split decision that, when looking back, saved his life. 

“I have a niece about Hisana’s age. Not as smart, but better looking. Her father died years ago, and that was why I took her to that stupid dinner. I actually preferred your daughter to her inane prattle. Yes, your disgusting beast had the table manners of a dog, but she was sharp, even then.”

Asami jerked his gun out of his shoulder holster. It was warm and heavy in his hand, which was extremely comforting. “I don’t need a history lesson.” He was there; he remembered the imp who batted her gold eyes and simpered, even as she apologized. “Who took her?”

“My guess is that ex-fuck toy of hers…or rather the one she didn’t screw. Rumor has it that the boy’s organs are shutting down, and that he won’t make the month. His––,” the man licked his cracked lips. “––butler, if you will, ended up in here while awaiting trial. He tried to end the boy’s suffering, and the father caught him in the act.”

“Give me a name,” Asami cocked the gun. 

“We called him Daimora. Not that it matters. Matsuhara Saburo got to him first.” As he should have. Anyone who moved against his daughter would die painfully before they reached prison. Kawaguchi continued on, “The kid didn’t take well to whatever Daimora gave him. Necropsy has set in. I heard half of his face has rotted off. An arm, too.”

He had what he needed. A name. A lead. An enemy to hunt down and gut. Asami turned on his heel, practically running when he realized that he had unfinished business with Kawaguchi. Whipping back around, he grabbed the imprisoned fixer’s neck. He was much easier to toss around with his elbows blown out. He hit the stone wall, his head brutally snapping back and his eyes widening in agony. There was sickening crunch as his throat was crushed. Kawaguchi slumped to the floor and Asami was out the door, the repugnant gasps as the man slowly suffocated was immensely satisfying. Prison staff would find him before he asphyxiated. 

“Pay someone to make him a bitch,” Asami told his secretary. “And seize all his assets. He’ll be dead in a year.”  

Kirishima did not answer him, but he had heard. He was already on the phone, verifying the story. Still, Asami had faith that his orders would be carried out. 

*

Asami had been gone maybe fifteen minutes. Mahdi let Akihito hover over his shoulder, as he read what he could about Lorenzo Gallo. Mahdi had made a few quick phone calls, speaking Arabic as fast as Akihito breathed. What little info the Al Madanis’ had was sent to his phone. Though it was in English, Akihito could see the gaping holes blocked out in black and the missing info in blank spaces.

What confused him the most was the death date some two years prior next to Gallo’s grainy mugshot. The photographer tapped the giant screen, and Mahdi’s dark eyes narrowed. He said something in Arabic, Akihito presuming he was swearing. It was a dead end, unless Kirishima could turn water into wine. The Al Madanis’ information was wrong. 

“I can call in other favors,” Mahdi’s thumb shook in frustration as he tried to back out of his email. The phone was running slow. “The Brits owe Abbas. What about Asami? Didn’t he say something about having a man in Interpol?”

“Yes,” Akihito remembered that. Not that he had any way to contact the man. He was honestly surprised the fixer had let him tag along this far. “Did Hisana tell you about Asami?” he asked before common sense could tell him to shut his mouth. Now was not the time, but he could not stop thinking about this sudden daughter, who went from a plush hotel to a prison cell in the space of an hour. 

“Stupid, useless piece of junk!” her boyfriend snarled. “She didn’t have to. He’s kind of a big deal.”

Maybe Asami had just assumed that Akihito had known. He had run extensive background checks on his lover in the early months, before Hong Kong. No family was mentioned. No records about his youth. Actually, Asami Ryuichi did not exist until he started university. 

“He didn’t tell her about you,” Mahdi tried to focus on something other than his frozen cell. “She figured it out on her own.” And boy had that been a terrible two days, with her throwing anything she could get her hands on. It wasn’t that her father had taken a lover––she remembered him always being insatiable, even when he thought he was sneaky. It was that they had been going steady, that somehow he had fallen in love, and just forgot to mention it during their monthly chats. Mahdi eventually hid at a bar with his friends until she made him come home. 

Something small hit Akihito’s head, and he ruffled his hair. Great prison. The ceiling was crumbling overhead. “How’d you meet?”

Mahdi ripped the protective case away so he could pop the battery out. “I was her orientation leader two years ago.”

It was a typical college romance: friends first and then lovers. She dated extensively before ending up in Mahdi’s bed. He certainly had not stayed celibate while waiting for her to find her way to him. She had a thing for jocks. Silly girl, it took her seven months to even realize that he was an Al Madani of organized crime, and not some schmuck unconnected to her world at all. 

Another chunk of debris hit his head. “This is getting ridiculous,” he snapped as he looked up. And promptly screamed like a coed in a horror movie. 

The white face of a macabre clown, its blood red mouth twisting into a horrifying sneer, looked right back at him. A gloved hand waved. The man had been crawling in the ceiling, and removed the tile. Something clattered on the floor but Akihito could not take his eyes off the ghoulish specter that retreated into the darkness.

Oh yeah. He was going to have nightmares about this. 

“Outside! All of you!” Mahdi was bellowing as he jumped to his feet. “Cover the perimeter. We have to find him!”

“Do you have security cameras?” Kuroda asked Akiyama. The warden’s face was almost as pale as the mask.

“Yes.”

“Send the feed to Asami-sama,” Kuroda ordered over his shoulder as he dashed down the hallway to his boss.

Akihito grabbed Mahdi’s arm before he could disappear too. “Give me a boost!”

“Takaba––”

“I’m small enough to fit up there. I can keep up with him!” the photographer protested. “Come on! He’s getting away!”

Clown Face was the only feasible lead to Hisana, so Mahdi squatted down, fingers laced like a step. Akihito put on foot on the brace and pushed off the floor. He needn’t have, because Mahdi catapulted him up into the ceiling. He landed hard on his diaphragm, and had to fight to keep air in his body. Long legs flailed like a suffocating fish momentarily, but once he was able to wrestle his arm out of the sling, he pulled himself up into the crawlspace. 

Clown Face had to be small, too. The crawlspace was pitch black. He could not see his hand in front of his face, but Akihito plunged fearlessly into the Stygian abyss. Every noise reverberated along the metal shaft, so though Akihito could not see Clown Face, he could hear him. He chased him as quietly as possible. 

The man kept muttering in a recognizable language: the same as the one Havi had shouted in. He really needed to enroll in a language class, especially since the people of the world did not speak Japanese. Kidnappings had been convenient in that way until now. 

The air was war, and smelled like saline sweat. Clown Face was rank. Then again, hiding for hours in a crawlspace, waiting to ambush Asami could do that to a person. Clown Face must have been covered in debris and spider webs that somehow Akihito had missed. Having your target act as a dust mop was kind of nice. Finally, the remnants of a breeze wafted lackadaisically past him. He could smell summer and freshly cut grass. They were almost outside. His palms slicked as he realized he would have to confront Clown Face. 

This might not have been one of his better plans.

*

Benito was in a foul mood. He told Sergei that it was stupid to deliver the disk and demands this way, but his boss was dramatic. His loyal minion kept bruising his elbows on the walls as he beat a hasty retreat. He had barely been able to get to the prison before Asami. He had been tailing the man since he left his club, and only once he realized the fixer’s destination did he break away. 

The vent he slipped in through was still open. Fresh air had never felt so good. He slid out the hole, head first so he could gulp in the untainted air. He really should not have had ćevapčići for lunch. It always made him gassy. It was maybe a three meter drop to the ground. Always the acrobat, Benito absorbed the landing with bent elbows, rolling forwards. 

He ripped the mask off. No one was in sight. He was home free. 

“Aaaaaayyyyyyyaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!” 

Wha’? Benito could only look up to investigate what sounded like a bald eagle’s mating cry. A dark body dropped on him. The heavy impact made him stumble, dropping to one knee. 

Lips pressed to his neck as the bodies became tangled. Small hands tried to push away, and out of self-preservation (he certainly did not come to Japan to be molested), Benito grabbed onto his assailant. “Da fuc––” 

Ow. Oh shit! Fuck, that hurt. A pointy kneed rammed between his legs as the boy jerked back. He could barely whimper when the knee hit home a second time. Stomach churning, bile rose in his throat and he fell backwards, body seizing. 

Akihito jumped on the man’s chest, pinning him down with his weight. Green eyes focused on his face, narrowing in recognition. Grabbing ahold of his ears, Akihito yanked his head up and then slammed in down hard into the soft grass. Again! Again! Again!

“Eat grass!” he sneered, because he was full of witty repartees like that. Thumps and groans fizzled into the night, but Akihito did not stop until his arms were sore. 

“Takaba!” Mahdi turned a corner. 

His chest heaved. “I got him!” shouted Akihito. “I got him!”

The short man was oddly proportioned, as short as the photographer but thickly muscled. He was wearing a black muscle shirt and cargo pants, accentuating the duality of his body. Clown Face groaned, his head stirring. 

“Shit!” the photographer jumped. The adrenaline was quickly abrading away as fatigue set in. Still, he manage to grab his long hair and pound his head into the dirt a few more times. There had to be a dent in the pliable earth by now. 

“Takaba?” Mahdi’s footsteps were so close. If he looked up, he would see him. He was too afraid to take his eyes off Clown Face lest he rouse again. 

“Over here!” Thankfully, Clown Face was out for the count. He was pure muscle and Akihito would not have been able to subdue him if not for the element of surprise and gravity.

“Damn, dude,” Mahdi exclaimed as he stood over them. Clown Face was a bloody mess. It looked like the photographer had turned his brain into scrambled eggs. Hisana postulated that the kid was a secret badass, worthy of Asami’s ardor. Maybe not so secret, thought the sweating boy. He certainly pulverized Clown Face easily enough. 

“I’ll carry him, Takaba.” Mahdi practically lifted Akihito off the unconscious man. His feet touched the ground, as exhaustion set in. His knees knocked together, his arms hung immobile by his sides, as heavy as cement blocks. 

“‘Kay,” he wheezed out. 

Oh fuck. There was so much blood. Akihito could not take his eyes of the revealed puddle. It pooled in the dark dirt, black in the moonlight. It was all over Clown Face’s unmasked facade, dripping out of his nose. He had just killed a man. Fuck. 

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Mahdi heaved the corpse over his shoulder. He did not seem to notice the extra weight as he walked by Akihito, Clown Face’s arms swinging with his steps. The more Akihito looked at the corpse, the more the pain in his shoulder flared. Pain was good. It meant that he was alive: his heart was beating, and oxygen fueled his muscles. 

He had walked away from the fight. Not Clown Face. 

So much for the shining innocence of his soul and the untainted hand that Asami kept yapping about. He had killed a man, and not in self-defense. Murder. He attacked first. It was murder. 

“Akihito!” 

Asami was running to him. The prison yard was lit by giant searchlights, creating long, spindling shadows. Men in suits rushed by––swarmed them. They were all saying something, grabbing for the body but Mahdi waved them away. Akihito felt their hands brush him, but kept walking. He was tainted now, and they all knew it. Bloody spatter covered him, the men parting like the Red Sea so he could pass. The surreal realization swept him away in a current, far from the shouting men. 

“Akihito!”

He watched the world with foggy eyes staring through cloudy glass. The shadows stretched and twisted; the goons blurred together into faceless silhouettes. His heart beat so slowly, his blood sluggishly flowing as the cold set in. His breathing was shallow, and when he held up his good hand, his fingers were stiff. Good. Because he was a murderer, and murderer’s shouldn’t be able to use their hands. 

“Akihito!”

Hands, bigger than his head, enclosed over his frozen digits. They were so hot that Akihito was sure his skin would blister. The hand was his anchor to reality, and when Asami jerked him to his chest, his stupor flew from him like unsettled dust. Akihito’s waterlogged gasps as Asami crushed against him, his little body shaking.

“What happened?” his lover’s voice was hoarse from his boiling anger.

“Takaba pursued the man and detained him,” Mahdi answered. It sounded like he was so far away, but the way Asami’s voice rumbled deep in his chest, bouncing Akihito’s head, was proof that he was nearby. So close that he might stand against reality, that he might love Akihito despite his crime. “It’s this guy’s blood all over Takaba.” 

“The suspect?” 

Akihito wailed into Asami’s silk vest. Mahdi quirked his eyebrow, and shifted the limp body on his shoulder. It jarred and bounced. When it landed, Clown Face grunted. “He’s alive, just unconscious. He might have some brain damage, but he should be able to tell us something.” As far as Mahdi was concerned, Asami’s boytoy could dish out some pain. 

Akihito could not process the pain-filled exhale, but he heard what Mahdi said. Alive. He wrenched out of his lover’s chaining hold, head arching back to look at Clown Face. The man’s ribs expanded slightly, before deflating. 

Alive. 

He was alive. 

Thank God. 

*

Akiyama let them use one of the interrogations rooms. By this time, so many laws and regulations had been broken, that one more did not matter. The proverbial camel had died long ago. Clown Face sat on a plastic chair, his hands cuffed behind his back. A piece of tissue had been twisted then tuck up his nose to stench the bleeding. It hung low over his mouth in the most indignant manner. Eyes, sunken deep into his skull, glowered at the assembled mob. They were out for blood, and the coppery smell lingered. Asami could almost taste it. 

He held up the disk. The man’s glare darkened. “Do I want to know what’s on this?” the fixer drawled. 

Clown Face spat out coagulated blood. “Sergei’s proof that Matsuhara has your daughter.”

Asami’s grip nearly broke the DVD. “So he does have her?”

“Yes,” Clown Face wheezed. “She’s feisty. Sergei likes her.” His boss would have offered her a job, if he did not think she would turn on him. 

“Who is Sergei?” growled Mahdi, standing in lieu of Kirishima on Asami’s right. 

“Gazda. Da boss,” Clown Face shrugged as much as he could. 

“Why did Matsuhara hire you?” Asami slowly hastened the interrogation. He set the pulsating disk down in its plastic case. “There are groups in Japan for hire.”

“Your shadow looms far, Asami Ryuichi,” the man said slowly. “Even we know of Japan’s panther. But we are in da middle of a civil war. We need money.”

“So you would challenge me for a pittance?”

“Money is money,” Clown Face retorted in broken English. “We don’t care who it’s from. But Sergei will betray Matsuhara and return tvoja cerka unspoiled for a price.”

“I could just kill you, and Sergei once I get Hisana back.” He refused to breathe life into the fears that she was gone, or so deformed that death was merciful.

“You need Sergei to protect her,” argued Clown Face. He took a deep breath, before delivering the message he spent hours memorizing. “We are just like you. We do not hurt women or children. Ours is a war of men. Sergei and our men will not touch her if you agree. He will even give you Mastuhara––”

“What’s on the video?” Asami cut him off. 

“Sergei’s face. Matsuhara’s face. Gazda has a message for you.” 

“You don’t hurt women?” Akihito snarled from the opposite side of the room. He had squirreled himself into the corner, as unobtrusive as possible. As much as he wanted to run away, he had to see this through. He committed to it, and only cowards backed down. “You tasered her, cut off her ear. That’s inflicting pain!” he snarled in Japanese. 

Kirishima, standing beside him, translated smoothly. 

“Was Matsuhara,” Clown Face’s head bobbed. “It is on da vidyo.”

They could delay no longer. It was time to see whatever was on the DVD. Asami popped the case open. A man walking to the gallows, he slipped the disk inside the player. The old, fat backed TV hummed awake, and there was Hisana’s face, familiar gold eyes scowling, as the play button flickered in the corner. They collectively held their breath as the home movie started. 

Men were murmuring in the same foreign language, dark shadows just out of focus. The main star was in frame. She was still clothed, and her arms were pulled overhead, taught as a wire. 

She looked so delicate that Asami took an involuntary step forward. Pale skin was translucent under the flickering neon lights. Those scowling eyes burned with the same fire that stirred in Asami, and pride swelled in his chest, as she stared down her captors with calm composure. It was the look of a king––a queen, completely in control of the situation, omniscient and omnipotent. How many times had the same look fallen on his face? His baby girl looked completely fearless, which only multiplied the trepidation in his gut. Hisana was not strong nor inviolable. She was at the foot of Matsuhara’s lunacy until he could save her.  

“Smile for the camera,” a surprisingly feminine voice crooned. 

Akihto’s heart stilled. A short man: thin and balding with a bad combover, waltzed slowly onto the screen. He was dressed just as impeccably as Asami, but was as thin as Akihito. A long hunting knife was in his hand. 

“Such a pretty girl,” the jovial malice in his voice could have flayed flesh from bone. “My son was so proud to have you on his arm, years ago. Never had a trophy shown so brightly.” 

“Your son didn’t want a trophy,” Hisana hissed. Her voice was lower than Akihito remembered, throatier too. She suddenly sounded so much like his lover that it was a slap in the face. 

“Perhaps,” he did not bother to deny it. Tamaki was voracious, sampling women like fine wine. “But all women are just holes to fuck. I love my wife, but she knows her place. You should have known yours, and none of this would have happened. I can’t believe your father didn’t teach you that fact of life, little trophy.”

Her eyes were knife-thin slits cresting above her cheeks. “My father––”

“The world knows how much he indulges himself. He’s got that little boy of his, and before that, an heiress on each arm.” Matsuhara Saburo kept talking, discounting her words as if he could not hear them. “Sex was always his greatest weakness. It made him vulnerable,” he hummed for a moment, as if in deep thought. “Maybe that’s why he is so protective of you, and why he overreacted so much when my Tamaki tried to teach you.”

Matsuhara grabbed her face, squishing her lips together into a pout, and forcing her to meet his gaze. “You do agree that he overreacted, don’t you?”

Hisana tried to jerk away, but Matsuhara dug his nails into her cheeks, securing his grip. The man leaned in close, licking the flexed, pearly column of her neck up to her ear, where he gave it a playful nip. “Does your daddy do that when he fucks you in your tight ass?”

Asami thought he was going to be sick. For the man of titanium, even the notion of touching his child made his stomach roil. His grip on the table was so tight, his bloodless skin ripping from the straining hold, and then with a loud crack, the wood crumbled. The splintered chips bit his clenched fists, embedding deep in his palms. 

Hisana appeared just as revolted as the fixer. Matsuhara still suckling on her ear, she lunged forward. The irate father’s hand opened like a flower and she sunk her teeth into the fleshy stretch of skin between his thumb and forefinger.

Matsuhara let out a croaking exclamation. He tried to pull out of her clutch but her teeth locked on tightly, intent on rending the pinky flesh. 

“Stupid bitch!” he roared. Tossing the hunting knife away, he slapped her across the cheek. Akihito winced. The sound echoed in the prison room. It must have been deafening. Hisana’s head rolled, fully absorbing the force of the blow. The world had exploded into a billion fragments around her, but she held on to his hand, even as her teeth vibrated in her skull. 

Matsuhara screamed as his skin tore. He dropped to his knees, clutching his wrist. Gold eyes slightly crossed, Hisana loudly chomped three times on the chewy meat before swallowing. She opened her mouth widely, tongue dangling obscenely down her chin. Curlicues of blood swirled thinly on her tastebuds, the current parted by the fatty debris. 

“You’ll pay for that, you goddamned whore!” Matsuhara snarled. A large chunk was stuck between her teeth, so she made a show of digging it out. “Renichi,” he tossed the puukko to one of his three employees. “You have the honors. Finish what my son started.”

Renichi was a bear of a man, thickly muscled and hair so rampant it looked like a fur coat. He donned inconspicuous street clothes, but it made him seem much more dangerous. Suoh stood out in the city, like the bright coloring of poisonous snakes. Renichi was the umbrageous jaguar, stalking his prey in the shadows, invisible to the world. 

The hunting knife was probably ten inches long, but it looked like a butter knife in his hands. Hisana’s nostrils flared as she snorted, but she made no movement as he stalked around her. The world was silent as he slowly drug the edge down her arm. A long welt raised in its wake. The sleeve of the pressed shirt peeled away, clumping around her shoulder. Renichi moved to her other arm, slicing away her shirt. 

“Is this the best you can do?” her smoky voice taunted. “I’m not scared of rape!”

Renichi pressed the tip of the knife into the hollow of her throat. She was too proud to balk, and the corners of her mouth warped into a murderous sneer. The knife pricked her skin, a drop of crimson blood welling and then he jerked it down quickly, slicing her shirt completely open. 

“Sodomy, my Tamaki’s trophy,” Matsuhara drawled off screen. “The knife is going to fuck you first.”

Suddenly, Renichi had sheathed the knife on his hip and grabbed ahold of the leather skirt. Hisana kicked and shrieked, pushing him away. The bear grabbed ahold of her waist, lifting her off the floor. He tore her skirt away with one long movement, flinging it and her shoes far out of the camera’s sight. Still holding her, he tore off the remnants of her diaphanous shirt. 

Akihito pushed out of the corner. His lover’s entire body was clenched, muscle and bone squeaking from the strain. 

“That’s lovely, that is,” Renichi traced a circle around her belly button. “All dressed up and nowhere to go.”

She was wearing mint green lingerie, lacy and see-through. Her boobs were shoved up to her neck, and the lacy boyshorts were very similar to the ones VS models wore. Akihito only knew because of photoshoots. If he looked closely, the photographer could see the blistering burns just above her heart, evidence of the disabling electricity that had consumed her. “I anticipated someone else seeing this,” she snapped. When slithering into this getup, she had a very different plan for the evening. It involved Mahdi being naked and some massage oil. 

Gruff hands gripped her pale thighs, prying them open as he dropped to his knees. He inhaled deeply, his nose pressed hard against the lace that covered her center. “You do smell sweet,” Renichi drawled. “Like Olympian nectar. I’ll make you suck yourself off my knife.”

Behind him, Mahdi made a choking sound. Akihito thought Asami might have an aneurysm. “Don’t watch,” he whispered. A father did not need to see that happen to his princess. 

Renichi stood back up. He leaned in to kiss her when she bounced off of the ground. Wrapping her legs around his waist, he shoved her pelvis into his stomach. He grunted, behind forward just enough. Her mouth was on his neck in an instant, and she bit with all the strength in her body. Thin flesh, watery veins and one pulsating artery all gave way to her sharp bicuspids. Renichi fell back as her legs untwined, black blood spurting out of his mouth like a fountain. 

Akiyama heaved behind them when he saw the gaping hole in the man’s neck.

Matsuhara was shouting, his men were rushing to their fallen comrade. The Serbs stayed put, waiting Sergei’s orders. Hisana spit the gummy flesh onto Matsuhara’s face. He screamed incoherently, wheeling back, his arms flailing in circles. Eyes gleaming in chatoyance, she stared down her enemies. Blood frothed over her lips, dribbling like spit down her chin. 

Matsuhara grabbed the puukko off of the floor, growling like a rabid dog. He used the back of his hand to wipe the fetid human remains out of his eyes, and he lunged for Hisana, knife outstretched, ready to turn her into a Blood Eagle. A dark hand grabbed the knife, stopping Matsuhara in his tracks. 

“What are you doing?” a deep voice rumbled like a volcano about to erupt. It was the complete opposite of Matsuhara’s high-pitched tones. 

“Do not question me, Sergei!” Matsuhara shouted, white spittle foaming in the corners of his mouth. “I’m paying you––”

“To do to her as was done to your son,” this Sergei responded in flawless Japanese. “Your son was not raped. Nor was his disemboweled.”

“I will make Asami suffer!”

“If you insist on raping her, I will send on of my men to fuck your boy,” Sergei threatened calmly. 

Matsuhara’s face was puce, blue veins protuberant on his temple. “You wouldn’t dare––”

“I would,” Sergei interrupted softly. “Tit for tat, as the Americans say.”

“My son is rotting alive because of your father,” Matsuhara snarled at the seething girl who was still suspended from the ceiling. “His doctors numb him, so he feels no pain, and the coma shields him from his deformities. I won’t give you either of those luxuries. I’m going to gut you slowly, and you will feel every bite of steel.”

She knew better than to antagonize him. Asami had raised her to be smarter than that. But her pride was wounded, she was scared, and she was desperate to save face. She knew she was going to die, and that it was going to be excruciating. Still, Hisana refused to give him the satisfaction of sniffing her tears. Asami would have reacted the same way. “I’m sure he’s better looking now.”

Matsuhara wrenched free of Sergei’s grip. The knife was at her temple, and then slicing through her sensitive ear. She hissed––hissed because she couldn't scream or fight or speak, and the pain exploded, blazing across the side of her face in a sear of red and white jags.

“I’ll start with your face first,” he hissed. “It makes you so vain. I’ll slice off your cheeks to chew as I cut off your nose, peel your lips away and rip out your teeth. And then, I will cut off your eyelids, so you will have nowhere to hide. You’ll see how much better looking you are after I am done with you.” The knife ghosted over her face, scratching but not piercing. “I’ll keep you alive as long as Tamaki is, mimicking his every suffering on your body. You’ll eat my shit, drink my piss, and your daddy will never find you. I’ve sent him on a wild goose chase for a dead man. You are mine––”

“Sir,” an unnamed minion stepped forward. “Your wife is on the line.”

Matsuhara pulled away mid rant, his ratlike face immediately softening. “She needs me. She is such a delicate thing, you see,” he offered Hisana something akin to a reassuring smile. 

He turned on his heel. “Don’t touch her,” he ordered Sergei. “I’ll be back tomorrow. And put this in preservative––” he dropped the floppy ear into the outstretched hand, “––as a memento of my trophy. The first of many, I’m sure.”

The screen blackened. No one moved. No one dared breathe or think, because that couldn’t possibly be it. There had to be more. This was not long ago, only a few hours and she seemed so close that Akihito thought he could reach through the screen to brush her hair out of her face. Mahdi let out a sharp inhalation of horror as the seconds ticked by…

One…

Five…

Seven…

Nothing. That was it. The secret film had been shipped off with no closure––

A bright light pulsed, and a new face appeared on the screen. It had to be Sergei. He was older than Akihito expected. His gray hair was streaked with white, gelled back from his face. The lines in his face were etched deep, evidence that he had endured unspeakable hardships, but was as resilient as a mountain. He was bony, almost wraithlike, and his head was too large for his body. Just looking at him, Akihito thought a gust of wind might break his back. 

“I don’t like Matsuhara,” Sergei began speaking after a moment. “However, he is paying me, though money cannot blot out every transgression. As a rule, we do not hurt women and children. Your daughter is both, and her pain is needless. She is not at fault for this. You are. It is you who should be nailed to a cross, yet you sit on your throne, unscathed.”

The man shook his head. Lightning flashed in his deep set, craggy eyes as he frowned. “I will protect her, for a price. You must have some penance for your sin. My price is ten million euros. If you are at all capable, you will have detained my man by now. Once the money is wired to the bank account he specifies, Benito will bring you to us. I would hurry; Matsuhara will come back for her. He plans to move her in the morning to a more secure holding facility.

“Lastly, do not think you can coerce Benito to give up our location. He is ex-KGB. Pain is nothing to him.”   
The screen blackened again. 

“Do you have an answer for me?” Benito, a.k.a. Clown Face, sneered as he leaned back into his seat. “Or do you need some time to think things over?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked it. My kitty says hi. She loves to read on this site with me. It's kind of adorable.
> 
> I am sorry if I offended anyone. I certainly offended myself, and I wrote it! I know it is crass, but I truly intended it to be that way. I think that some of the baddies would not be as classy as Asami, and they would use their words as weapons.


	9. Don't Take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: It’s been officially beta’d! Thanks a million to Miyanoai, who bails me out of my own writing faux-pas. Seriously girl, I am blind to many of my mistakes. You are a lifesaver!
> 
> Sorry that it took so long to get this posted. I’m in business school, I’m a retail manager and it’s the holidays. It’s been ridiculously busy for me. Plus, this chapter was hard to write. I knew what came before it, little parts of what happened in it, and what happened afterwards. The majority of it just happened as I wrote, and writing it down was like pulling teeth!

Chapter Nine:

Akihito threw his head back as he let out a frustrated howl. His escorts looked at him with concern, but no one started running towards him. They were getting used to his antics now, and they were probably just as tense as he was. They wanted to be where the action was, but instead, they were stuck at the hospital under the guise of securing it. 

It was already secured. An entire ward had been emptied, save the skeleton medical staff. Reiko-sensei had called in his best surgical team, and they were on standby until Asami could bring Hisana. Men in suits regularly patrolled the empty hallways, muttering into their headsets. The general consensus was that they would have rather gone after the Asami heiress. Akihito could not stand their grumbling, because was exactly where he wanted to be. 

Only Asami had sent him to the hospital instead.  

“Matsuhara runs most of his business out of Kanagawa,” Kirishima had snapped his phone shut. The man was a shipping tycoon, with eighty percent of his income revolving around the docks. He would have taken her to a location near the ports, because Matsuhara would feel like he was safe there, and in control. 

“It’s too big an area to search without alerting him to our presence,” Suoh growled as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. 

“But he went home to his wife!” protested Akihito. If the photographer closed his eyes, he could see the terrible film playback on his eyelids like some twisted movie theater. He could not fathom how his lover saw such gore every day. 

“Factor in the hospital, and we have a search area,” Kirishima surmised. The secretary had already given this a considerable amount of thought, his quick mind working in overdrive. On paper, it was an immense area. It would take days to sift through it thoroughly. 

“Too large,” Asami took a deep drag off his cigarette. Akihito’s mind flashed back to Club Peek, and how all of this could have been avoided if the family didn’t smoke. “We’d never get to her in time.”   
That left only one option. 

“Get the money ready,” Asami gruffly ordered. “Half in cash, half electronic.”  The hard cash would give them some control over the situation. Sergei had no reason to hold up his end of the deal if he had his money. More than likely, if Asami paid the full sum, he would find Hisana’s corpse, its throat slit and no sign of the Serbs. 

“It’s done,” Kirishima informed him without ever touching his phone. The secretary had anticipated his decision and acted, knowing that every second was precious. 

Asami should have been furious that Kirishima had acted presumptuously, but he was glad that it was done. One less thing to worry about. The ransom money would be waiting for them at the eastern warehouses. 

Akihito had never seen so many people move so quickly. He counted seventeen goons dressed in black and Kevlar. Crates were stacked up to the ceiling, but a few had been torn open. Semiautomatics, big guns, hand guns, all types of guns frothed out. Packing peanuts squeaked when shoes crushed them. Men were putting extra magazine everywhere, tucking flash grenades and complicated looking equipment on their belts. 

“Give Tatsuuma a ten percent return since his shipment will be late,” Asami told Kirishima. Tatsuuma would understand. He was an old friend––as much as one could be. Asami had helped him out of many scandals, including a botched assassination attempt. The politician could wait an extra two days to extract his revenge on the family that ordered the hit.

“Yes, sir,” Kirishima stepped away, phone to his ear. 

“Suoh, get the address from our guest. They get half now, and the rest when I have Hisana.”

Suoh, too, faded into the darkness. Suddenly, Asami was gripping Akihito’s arm so tightly that the photographer could not stop his gasp of pain. The crime lord winced, but still threw Akihito into a small office. The door’s slam reverberated in the concrete room. 

Akihito’s heart was in his throat. “Ryu, I––”

“Are you okay?” his lover grabbed both of his arms. His wild eyes flashed, half crazed as his ebon bangs fell in front of his face. “Is any of it yours?”

The blood. Benito’s blood. Akihito had forgotten that he was covered in it. The stains on his shirt had dried into a flaky light brown, but the coppery musk still clung to hims like fog. “No,” he shook his head quickly. “It’s not mine. I’m fine.”

Asami sighed in relief. Flat palms rubbed his eyes, pushing them deep back into his skull. “When I saw you outside the prison, you were so pale. I had thought––” Realizing that he was rambling, the fixer pulled away from the photographer. “You aren’t going with us. Suoh is arranging to have men take you back to the safe house.”

“What?” Akihito cried. “No! Ryu, I’m not going to let you go alone!” Asami’s mind was quickly being consumed by the swirling vortex that was the abyss. Kirishima and Suoh could not protect him from himself. No, they would let him slip into the madness that he demanded. 

“Yes, you are,” Asami tried to keep his voice even. “It’s going to be dangerous-––”

“I’m not afraid!” the boy shouted over his lover. His declaration sent Asami reeling back, gold eyes flashing in shock. Akihito snarled, “I won’t let you––”

Asami pulled him to his chest. Pointy hips dug into the flesh of his Adonis belt. Rib cages collided, knocking the air out of his body, yet the photographer melted into his lover’s arms. “I can’t concentrate with you there, Akihito,” the man was whispering fiercely. “I can only think about you.”

Akihito choked on his own breath. “Ryu…”

Asami shook his head, and pressed tender kisses into his blonde hair. “If you come, I won’t be able to save you both.” He would lose everything. 

But what about Asami? He was so caught up in the pain and the blood that he was slipping away. He would not save himself. Akihito needed the man that held him like he needed to breathe. If Asami died, he would too. “I can’t lose you,” he hissed as the tears started to slip through his clenched eyed. He feared that if he let Asami out of his sight, that the man would never return. 

“You won’t. We’ll go to the abyss together.”

Asami was already teetering on the edge of it. “Let me go to the hospital,” Akihito pled. “She needs to be with family when she wakes up.”

“Akihito––”

“I’ll sit with her until you can make it,” Akihito’s smile was weak. Here was a way to force his lover to come home. “We all know you’ll be late. You always are.”

Asami kissed him roughly. It was not a soothing or reassuring kiss. Fire exploded between them as the ravaged each other. This was war. The fear was palpable and both were soaked in it. It was possible that the entire Asami family would be wiped out tonight. Then Akihito would be left alone, with only memories of his lover, as if were all just a dream. 

He had to say it one last time. Jerking away, he gasped. A thin line of spit was strung between their lips. “I love you, Ryu,” his chest heaved. 

Asami grabbed his head and pressed another kiss to his lips Words were nothing to the fixer, trite and overused. Even Hisana rarely made the declaration. Hearing them come so honestly from Akihito was heady and humbling. His beautiful boy, so pure and giving, meant it. Asami trusted its veracity like he trusted Akihito’s heart to keep beating. 

“I love you, Akihito,’ he whispered gently into his ears. “Always, I have loved you.”

Akihito stilled his shoulders. Stepping back, he wiped his tears away. There wasn’t time to cry or give Asami all the kisses in the world. The man he loved cared enough to tell him goodbye. Asami was not sure that he would come back unscathed from the assault, and gave Akihito the only goodbye he could ever say. “Then bring her home,” Akihito would do his best to bring Asami back. “We’ll have a have family celebration for your birthday. I promise,”

Asami nodded. He would bring her home. It was a promise. And then he too slipped into the darkness. 

That was how Akihito ended up at the hospital. He was perfectly safe. All he could do was wander up and down the cold, empty corridors, waiting as he thought of his lover. It turned out, that after all of his doubt and trepidation, the love was there. It had always been there, but was never acknowledged. He was in love with Asami Ryuichi, and the crime lord cared for him just as fiercely. It was nice to know that they had gotten that mess straightened out, though they had plunged into a worse one. After that mutual epiphany, Akihito was liable to lose him. 

*

The armored SUVS drove silently in the night. They were nearing the exchange site. Mastuhara had her several stories above ground, in a cheap brothel. Asami never would have looked there, preferring to do business in secluded locations rather than the attic of a whorehouse. The strung out prostitutes would think her shrikes were exaggerated cries of ecstasy. They were paid to stroke egos as much as they were to fuck, after all. 

“We should haff called Sergei,” Benito mumbled. He sat between Suoh and Al Madani, handcuffed to both men. “He won’t know to haff her ready.”

“I’m not play into any trap your boss has masterminded,” Asami loaded his favorite gun. He chewed on his cigarette, rather than smoke it. 

“He does not want to trap you,” the Russian huffed. “He wants to go home. He has grand babies now.” The sooner they got out of Japan, the better. Asami Ryuichi would hunt them down and take his revenge. They were much safer in their barracks, fighting their civil war. Hopefully, they could evade him for a few years.

•

He kept pacing in the corridors. Ueda found him shortly after his arrival, and the man appointed himself as Akihito’s shadow. He followed the photographer, always just out of sight, but his footfalls were loud. 

Akihito slumped into a vinyl chair. His hand rubbed his face and he groaned. “How’s…” he trailed off. He actually did not know Ear-Guy’s name. 

Ueda stood in the doorway of the waiting room. “Laghari is doing well. They were able to reattach his ear.”

“Good,” the photographer sighed. It gave him some hope for Hisana’s ear. “And––”

“Musume-sama’s ear has been preserved,” Ueda reported. “Should Asami-sama bring her within the next few hours, it should be relatively easy to reattach.”

Excellent. Asami would bring her, and the family would be whole. This would be nothing more than a nightmare. 

*

They had the brothel surrounded. He heard the harsh breaths of his men echo in his earpiece. Felt the tense bodies coil tightly, and tasted the tension in the air as sweaty hands gripped cool guns. All exits were covered. His men had eyes on all windows, and even a sniper hovered overhead in a helicopter, noiseless in the loud night. Tachibana had taken care of the stationed bouncers moments before the motorcade arrived. 

The brothel was in the seedy part of Kanagawa’s red light district. Matsuhara did not own the Crimson Rose, according to Kirishima. It belonged to the local yakuza, Hashimoto Toshiro. On the surface, it did not look like the man was involved, but Asami knew he would be paying him a visit soon. It seemed impossible that this would happen under his nose with Hashimoto knowing nothing about it. 

Suoh exhaled slowly, his fingers flexing. Brown eyes met gold, and Asami nodded. It was go time. Kicking down the door would have been satisfying but it would announce their presence. Even if Benito was telling the truth, Asami wanted to be in control. “We’re going in,” Suoh muttered into the mouthpiece before quietly opening the door. 

“Money first, gentle––”

Suoh’s shots were muffled by his silencer. The bouncer fell down dead. The blond behemoth stepped over the corpse, eyes searching for any threat. When he gave the all clear, Asami and Kirishima slunk in, flanked by their men. Benito was wedged between Akinawa and Oshiro. “Up the stairs,” the Russian said softly. “She’s in the attic.”

“Kill anyone who sees us,” Asami gave the order. They would deal with the ramifications later. Lives cost so little money. 

They moved quickly and quietly. The staircases were in the center of the floor, creaking planks and a half wall. Thus the entire floor was open, letting security cameras see anyone that moved. If he leaned over the edge of the stairs, he could look up or down, finding Hashimoto’s men. One door slid open, and a wide-eyed whore could barely gasped before Suoh put a bullet between her eyes. The man in the room, caught with his pants around his ankles, never even saw the woman drop or the gun point at his back. 

Two flights up, a small child banged on the door to a room, screeching “Mommy!” loudly. Deep grunts echoed, as the sound of flesh slapping flesh drowned out the child’s pleas. Fukijima had his gun drawn on the child, who turned to watch the men. Fat tears rolled down her gaunt cheeks, and she chewed on the dead ends of her matted hair. “Mommy,” she whimpered. 

“Lower your gun, Fukijima,” Asami lowly ordered over his shoulder. Hisana had cried like that once, calling for him a storm surged in the night. He, too, was fucking as she wailed on the other side of his door. 

Two caucasian men stood like sentinels on either side of the attic stairs. They stiffened as Asami approached, hands itching for their weapons. 

“Boris! Zakof!” Benito called. His beaten face peered between the Japanese men, but it was enough to still their hands. A second longer and they would have opened fire. 

“Benito!” Zakof exhaled.

“Sergei was expecting a phone call,” Boris growled. He palmed his holstered glock. Benito had failed his mission, compromising security, the operation, and their lives. The fool.

“I don’t answer to Sergei,” Asami drawled crisply as he walked towards the men. 

“Indeed,” the thin man with a flat nose said suddenly from the top of the landing. “The great Asami Ryuichi answers to no one. Though, for your daughter’s sake, I had hoped you would be reasonable.”

“Sergei,”

It was the man who had promised Hisana’s safety. He walked like a predator, his steps almost mechanical but measured, conserving energy until he was ready to attack. His face was pleasant yet emotionless, but Asami could sense his calculating intelligence. He had played the part of Al Madani, testing the water for circling sharks before attacking his prey. He refused to waste time on Hisana if she was not valuable to Asami, but he was sane enough to bargain. 

“Come,” he jerked his chin. “She is waiting for you.” Asami and his men exchanged glances. Kirishima kept his gun drawn, covering his boss when he started up the stairs. “She’s both fearless and foolhardy,” Sergei was saying. “She’s killed three already. Four if Alec passes.”

Asami was aware of the men at Club Peek, and Renichi. More must have transpired after the video was sent. 

“I ordered her to be restrained,” Sergei gestured into the wide room. “For her protection as well as ours.”

“It says little of your men if they were taken out by a forty kilogram girl,” Asami replied scathingly. 

Sergei smirked. “I told you, my men deliberately do not hurt innocents.”

Hisana sat on a mattress in the corner of the room. Her hands were cuffed behind her, but thankfully Sergei had given her a man’s shirt. It swallowed her, but hid her injuries and protected the little modesty she had left. Red lips curled over pointy teeth as she snarled and screeched. Gold eyes widened in alarm when she saw him. Rather than taking comfort in his presence, she looked furious. Head thrown back, Hisana let out a preternatural wail and jerked on the metal restraints in frustration. Asami could imagine Kirishima rolling his eyes at her dramatics, but he could only feel the knotted coil of dread that rolled around in his gut as it released. She was bloodied and enraged, but she was alive. 

Soon, she would be safe. 

Behind him, Mahdi gasped wetly. Her eyes flitted to him as he whispered, “Al Hamdulilah.”

Hisana’s head slumped forward, her thick hair falling around her face like a curtain. Her arms were still taunt, straining the chain links that kept her bound. 

“I received five million already,” Sergei drawled. “I took that as your agreement to my terms.”

“Or I’ve come to kill you,” Asami threatened. “Five million euros is nothing to me.”

“I do not presume to know you, but a deal was struck. I am an honorable man. I have kept my end of the bargain. She is unharmed by my men––even after killing some of them.”

“I told you I could chew through a muzzle,” Hisana sneered. “You should have pulled my teeth out!”

“Foolhardy and fearless,” repeated Sergei with a soft smile. The look he directed at Hisana was almost fond. She was a daughter that would make any criminal proud. 

“Akinawa, give him his man and his money.”

The remaining euros were in a duffle bag that had been slung over Benito’s shoulder. The exchange would be quick. Hisana needed medical attention more than Asami needed his revenge on the foreigners. Sergei’s face remained stony, reacting neither to the money or his beaten man. “Release her,” he ordered in English. In Japanese, he added, “When do you want Matsuhara?”

“Immediately.” He needed to know who planned this, and who to punish. Asami smelled conspiracy. They were in Hashimoto’s brothel, and Matsuhara was not the kind to look for foreign hit men. No, there was a mastermind using the bereaved father as a scapegoat. 

“Daddy,” Hisana walked towards him, rubbing her raw wrists. 

He wanted to pull her into his arms. Check her body for injuries. Brush her hair as he did whens he was a young child. A smart father would pull her into his shadow until she was completely obscured by him, and invisible to the world. Al Madani was not enough of a threat to keep her safe, and sharks were circling around her. Her eyes glinted with appreciation and malice. “I want in.”

Of course she did. She was his child, his exact image, and neither would let this night go unpunished. 

Asami wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pressed a quick kiss into her hair before passing her off to Al Madani. He pulled her into his tight embrace. Asami still bristled at the sight but redirected his ire. He would kill Al Madani later. “Gather your men,” he instructed Sergei. Now was the time to strike, while they still had the element of surprise. “We’re going for Matushara now.”

They descended the stairs much like they climbed them. Al Madani clutched Hisana’s hand, his gun out as he shielded her with his body. All the Emirate men seemed to form a barricade around her. They were almost to the bottom when the shouts started to surround them. 

“Hey you!”

“What the hell?!?”

“Stop!”

Men in tight shirts rushed out of the hallways. They had guns and knives, all as tense as tigers. Hashimoto’s security for the whorehouse. They must have found the bodies. 

“Open fire!”

Asami reflexively lifted his gun and squeezed the trigger. Bullets flew. His men leaned into the staircase, using the wall for cover as the bullets rained down. Hashimoto’s men had no idea who they were, and they were untrained security, hired for brute force. Still, their onslaught was relentless. 

The cheap plaster peeled way in paper thin rivulets, mixing with the black bullets. Asami could hear shouts and feel the heat from the guns as they fired. Kirishima and Suoh were close to him, shooting their own weapons. The fixer squinted, looking up the faceless men. In a gunfight, the ones on the high ground had the advantage. 

His men were dropping like flies. Bodies littered the floor, blocking doors and spraying blood everywhere. He had been wrong. These were not untrained muscle. But neither were Asami’s men. They were all superb marksmen. They should not have been so overwhelmed, even on the low ground. 

“We have to get out of here!” Kirishima shouted to Asami’s men. “Move! Down the stairs!”

Suoh grabbed Asami’s coat and hauled him to his feet. The giant covered the boss with his own body, his head twisting so he could see where he pointed his gun. Asami fired randomly, but did not––could not look. 

Where was Hisana?

Al Madani was shouting at his men. In Arabic, Asami thought, but he could not be sure over the din. Hisana was clutching his hand tightly, and her other arm was raised protectively over her head as Al Madani drug her down the stairs. A red dot trailed over Hisana’s raised arm. Asami’s warm blood went cold. A sight. Hashimoto’s men were using sights. And now a gun was perfectly aimed at her temporal lobe. 

Al Madani saw it, too. Arm outstretched, he leapt and pushed her out of the way. Asami could not tell which gunshot it was––there was so many––but the Arab’s body crumpled from the powerful bullet. Two more shots rapidly followed and he could only watch as the man’s chest bucked with each direct hit. 

“Mahdi!” his daughter screamed at the top of her lungs. 

She lunged for her lover but another guard shoved her aside. A small hole blossomed between his eyes. He dropped to the floor, his legs catching around her feet. She stumbled, but momentum pushed her back. Jutting hips hit the half wall, and arms flailing in circles, Hisana toppled over the edge. The ground was three stories below. 

“Hisana!” he screamed. 

“Move!” Kirishima ordered their few remaining men. Hugging the wall as much as possible, they moved down the remaining steps, dodging bullets. Two more bodies fell when the projectiles sunk into weak tissue. 

“Hisana!” 

His daughter was lying supine on the wooden floor. Blood trickled out of her nose as parted lips struggled to breathe. “Dah…”

He could see the disjointed body, her bulging hip and flaccid leg. She could not stand, let alone walk. Her pelvis had been blown out from the impact. “Mahdi!” she gasped deeply. “Where’s––”

Asami lifted her gently yet still, she screamed when he touched her dislocated hip. “Hisana,” he whispered but the limp girl had already blacked out. Asami ran from the building. The remaining men, some Japanese, some Serbian, followed. Sergei was barking orders, the bullets still flying. He stepped over the child, her small body littered with holes. Tears still wet her face as she called for her mother with her dying breath. Yes, once Hisana had called for him like that child. He had been sleeping with a man he could not remember. Yet much like tonight, Asami had sent him away and swept his child into his arms. He could never fail her. 

The night air was warm, untainted by blood and bullets. “Burn the building,” Asami ordered as he loaded Hisana into the med-evac SUV. “Kill them all!”

Sirens echoed in the air. The police and medical services would be there soon. And they would want blood. 

“Yes, Asami-sama,” Nakano nodded before emptying his gun into a gas line. The building exploded with a raw heat, singeing his entire body. Burnt flesh and agonized screams swirled around them, as the whores and their clients were burned alive. 

“Ryuichi, we need to go!” Kirishima’s firm hand pushed him into a car. They both ducked as wood debris started to fall. 

“You’ve got one more!” Boris shouted to the evacuation car. The Serb was carrying Al Madani. “I found him on the stairs. He was looking for the girl!”

“Hurry! Hurry!” Akinawa pulled both men inside. They had to vamoose pronto. Slamming the door shut, the tires screeching as they pulled away. The building burned like hellfire behind them, but Asami could only look as his unconscious daughter in the back on a gurney. Her limp arm swung with every turn, attached to her body by sinew and willpower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are starting to wind down, with roughly three chapters to go! It has been so much fun writing this story, so I am both sorry and excited to have it begin to end––does that even make sense? 
> 
> We are definitely going to have gore and violence in the next chapter. While I look to the ever epic Business as Usual for inspiration, I don’t know how in depth I am going to go. Having never written gore and horror before, it could be a major flop. I am going to focus on finishing this before I return to Hyacinthus Bloomed. A new chapter of that will come soon, but this one will definitely be updated first. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your reviews, favs, follows, kudos, bookmarks and support in general! I love writing, but it feels amazing to know that other people are enjoying it, too!


	10. My Sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Hopefully 2015 brings another year of great stories, great angst and lots of fluff and smut! Especially from the manga itself!
> 
> This chapter was a lot of fun to write, mostly because I was drinking the entire time. Seriously, we started on the 30th, and went until the 1st. It's a great way to start the new year, though my liver and my beta were seriously tested because of the binge! 
> 
> A million thanks to Miyanoai! Drinking should never be mixed with writing, unless you are Stephen King writing The Shining. I think I typed Matsuhara about a hundred different ways, and never noticed. Poor Miyanoai had to go back and fix them all! To be fair, my computer tries to autocorrect, but since I never put Matsuhara into the dictionary, it would just make a guess. It corrected it to masturbate several times. Each time, I found it wildly inappropriate and hilarious. I laughed every time until I cried. Every single time. 
> 
> Just a friendly warning, this chapter is a gory one. Lots of psychological and physical torture. You know, the best kinds haha. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Akihito sat next to the recumbent girl in the hospital bed, her chest rising and falling slowly while the machines hummed quietly. Helpless anger stirred in his gut, and though the photographer longed to turn his gaze away, he could only stare at her battered and bandaged face. Hisana looked so much like Asami with her ebony hair and moonlight skin, but where his lover was strong, solid, and implacable, she looked fragile. 

He found himself memorizing the lines of her face, lest a gust of wind blow her away. The right side of her face was bandaged tightly, keeping her reattached ear in place. Yamagi-sensei, a plastic surgeon, assured Akihito that there would be little to no visible scarring. She would still be as beautiful as her father. Still, the photographer could only see the mottled bruises, the pink crescent cuts and abrasions as soft skin yielded.

Was this how Asami felt? This raging inferno that melded into icy terror consumed him. There was nothing he could do: heal her wounds, or wipe the experience from her memory. He could soothe the aches, help her walk until her hip healed, but he could not fix it. Could not make it all go away. 

Asami certainly was trying to. His lover was somewhere in the bowels of the city, avenging every drop of her blood. Matsuhara’s screams would echo in the warehouse, his goons lifeless statues as dead eyes watched the horror. Akihito didn’t need to see that, didn’t want to see it. He took comfort in the fact that Matsuhara would not target her again. 

The scene was so familiar to Akihito, and the mimicry was not lost on him. He had been the one so frequently unconscious in a hospital bed as Ryuichi slaughtered the enemy. It seemed to comfort the crime lord during the long hours of narcotic induced sleep. Now, Akihito could see the roles reversed: the fixer sleeping away wounds while he kept a silent vigil. For one day, that would happen. His love would be attacked, would be injured or worse, and Akihito could do nothing to stop it. 

Worst of all, it was only a matter of time before it happened. 

*

Asami crossed his legs, as the motorcade drove in the darkness. They were nearing the Matsuhara estate, but his mind was forty minutes away in Tokyo. He had sent Hisana to the hospital, choosing to pursue Matsuhara rather than hold her hand after the surgery. Akihito was there. His lover would stand by her until he destroyed the ones who dared stand against them. Kirishima was sitting across from him, searching the internet. Asami needed to make a phone call. 

“Abbas Al Madani’s private number,” Kirishima handed Asami his phone, with the number already queued in. 

The fixer accepted it, and with a deep sigh, pressed call. This was not a call he wanted to make. It rang twice, before a deep voice answered, “Salaam.”

“Abbas, this is Ryuichi Asami,” Asami said in crisp English. 

“Ryuichi,” the man’s voice was very deep. It rumbled in his chest like the ocean after a storm. “I expected this phone call eventually. Has Mahdi become too much of a consort to your daughter?” Abbas chuckled thinly. He knew that the Japanese crime lord would grow weary of the couple, and put out a hit on his nephew. Allah knew that fathers were protective of their daughters. 

“No,” Asami’s words were tight. “Your nephew is a runt, but he has ingratiated himself to me.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Abbas interrupted. That was a problem. Asami was not supposed to like Mahdi. The kids were young and stupid, but worldly enough to know that nothing could come of the relationship. Families of crime were, in essence, modern day royalty, and marriages formed unbreakable alliances. Abbas could not afford to be attached to a man as loathed as Ryuichi Asami. “We both know––”

“Abbas,” Asami cut him off. His fingers itched for a bourbon but only found his gun. In this moment, he missed his family, and wished to hold Akihito’s hand rather than the Ruger. The Arab stopped talking. “My daughter was kidnapped earlier this evening.”

“And Mahdi?” Abbas was almost afraid to ask. 

“Your nephew helped me retrieve her,” Asami hated being interrupted. Now was not the time to try his patience. “He saved her life, but was shot multiple times. He’s on his way to Keio University Hospital right now.”

Abbas swore. Mahdi was his sister’s boy, born from her short marriage. Her husband had died suddenly in a car crash. Her son had only been two. She doted on him, and was increasingly protective of him. Sending Mahdi to Oxford had caused her weeks of anxiety. This would send her into conniptions. 

Asami’s words flowed quicker, now. He knew as well as Abbas what was in store for the lovebirds. “My doctors are in charge of his medical care. Of course, I will cover all of the expenses and the funeral arrangements for your men. Several of them died tonight.” Though they were under Mahdi’s command, they ultimately worked for Abbas, and Asami would be remiss if he did not inform him of their deaths. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Abbas was not fooled by the offer. “My coffers are just as full as yours. I will have someone from our embassy collect him immediately. He will be in my house before he regain’s consciousness.”

Asami swallowed the knot in his throat. Hisana would be upset if Mahdi were to be ripped from her. “My daughter has grown fond of him,” he started. 

Abbas sighed so loudly that Asami had to pull the phone away from his ear. “My nephew is a smart boy, but he is a romantic, and loses his head when he sees a pretty girl. I have seen your daughter. She is beautiful, and I am sure that Mahdi cares for her. He will be devastated by my decision as well.”

“Then don’t force him back to Abu Dhabi,” Asami argued. 

“I will not leave him in your care. You may tolerate him today, but tomorrow, he will be your daughter’s suitor. I have daughters, Ryuichi. I know what it’s like.”

“Oxford, then. It is on the other side of the world, out of my reach and yours. Let us let them return to their apartment, and play pretend for a little while longer. We both know that this is infatuation. They will be sick of each other by the end of the year.”

“Six months ago, I might have agreed with you. So many of our peers have children there. My eldest son is even set to begin classes there next month. It would only be natural that their paths cross and diverge. But, it seems that my nephew’s feelings are becoming quite serious. He has already asked if my sister would like to meet your daughter. This relationship is bad for business. Broken hearts can heal, but business cannot.”

“Hisana has nothing to do with my business, legal or otherwise.” Abbas Al Madani usually dealt with black-market trades and human cartel. To him, that was the only side of business that mattered. “There should be no ramifications because of that,” countered Asami. 

The middleman chuckled derisively. “That girl has been groomed in your exact image from the moment she was born. You are lying to yourself if you think that she won’t follow in your footsteps. She is your heir, after all.”

“This isn’t about business anymore, Abbas,” Asami snarled into the phone. The Emirate man was slowly caving to his demands, slowly breaking. Just a little push, and Asami would get what he wanted. The things he did to keep Hisana happy. 

“What do you want from me, Ryuichi? We both know that my hands are tied on this.”

They were. His every argument was logical. The criminal world would distrust Abbas’s every word and deed if he were publicly tied to Asami. It was a miracle that no one had discovered the relationship yet, but Asami credited that to how well he had hid Hisana. “Release Mahdi from your service. Give him to me.”

“That is out of the question, Ryuichi. Never mind that he is family, he is crucial to my business. He holds the West in the palm of his hand. He even knows the royal family! No, I have invested too much money and time into that boy to hand him over to you to be your daughter’s plaything.”

“I’ll buy him from you,” the fixer played his last card. He would reimburse the sly Arab every penny that he invested into his nephew. Conditioning perfect lieutenants took an extraordinary amount of time and money, but Asami would bite the bullet and pay for the boy to come to Tokyo. 

“My decision is final. Mahdi will be here by first light.” 

The line went dead. Asami tucked the phone into his suit pocket. Kirishima’s face was blank, waiting for Asami to say something. To send men to the hospital to fight the Arabs back, or to move Mahdi and Hisana all together. Yet, Asami had once sworn that Hisana would love only him, and that thought reverberated in his mind as he met Kirishima’s gaze. “ETA on Matsuhara’s house?”

“Seven minutes,” the secretary answered as he pressed his glasses further up his nose. He could accept Asami’s decision. 

Asami nodded, and settled back into his thoughts. He had been his daughter’s world for years, but now he wondered if that was a mistake. 

*

The heart monitors beeped a little louder, the pulses coming closer together. Akihito scratched the side of his head and yawned. It felt like Asami had been gone for hours. It was almost four in the morning, and exhaustion was creeping up. Akihito really wanted to go to sleep. Maybe he would close his eyes for just a moment. The nurses had brought him in a pillow. It fit perfectly between Hisana’s stationary body and the bedrail. 

He was just getting settled when gold eyes snapped open. “Mahdi!”

Akihito jerked back, adrenaline pumping through his body. Hisana grabbed the metal rail and gasped sharply. She was transfixed by the IVs taped to her left hand. The right one grabbed at it, pulling at the starched bandages that kept it in place. “Mahdi!” she screamed again, as she tried to rip of the bandage off. 

“Hisana, calm down!” Akihito shouted right back at her. He jumped to his feet, and tried to grab her flailing hands. She slapped him away, but when her right hand collided with the IV, she grabbed it tightly and yanked. “Stop that!” Akihito grabbed both of her hands. 

“Mahdi! Where’s Mahdi?” she kept shouting “He’s hurt! He needs help! Mahdi!”

“Asami-san!” nurses came running in. Hisana’s heart rate monitor was going crazy, and her vitals were elevated. It looked like she was going into cardiac arrest. “What’s wrong?”

Hisana wheeled on the nurses. “Get out!” she screamed. “Mahdi!”

It was the head nurse. She balked and her eyes darted to Akihito, who struggled helplessly. Hisana was shouting for her lover, as she pulled at the IVs that kept her stuck in the bed. He motioned for the nurses to come help him hold her down. She needed to be reasoned with, and he might need some assistance with that. 

“He’s in surgery!” Akihito said loudly. He gripped both of her arms, though his shoulder protested as she violently struggled. For such a little thing, she had her father’s strength. “We’ve got him, Hisana! He’s here!”

“Pushing 200 mg of phenergan!” the head nurse shouted. Two more nurses appeared out of nowhere. They each pushed down on Hisana’s shoulders, allowing the head nurse to slip a needle into the clear IV. They pushed her down for several more seconds, until her eyes fluttered shut and she fell motionless on the bed. The tight grip she had on Akihito’s hand fell away. 

“Will that happen again?” he heard one of the nurses ask. 

“It could,” the head nurse sighed softly. “Maybe if the father were here, he could keep her calm.”

Akihito resumed his position by her side. He took her hand once more, his heart still racing. “It’s okay,” he gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here. Mahdi’s here. You’re safe.”

Hisana was unresponsive, but Akihito held her hand the rest of the night. 

*

Matsuhara, the old fool, was still in his mansion. The Serbs had killed the two men he left behind, and it seemed that Hashimoto had not contacted him about the exchange at the Crimson Rose. Asami walked straight into the man’s three story, European style home, shooting the snarling mutt that had come charging. 

Guns drawn, the fixer’s company followed the innocuous moans and squeaking mattress springs. Matsuhara was balls deep in his wife. His pale, flat ass was high in the air, butt covered with sparse, dark hairs that curled upwards. That was a sight that Asami wanted to burn from his memory. Nonetheless, he announced his presence with startling brutality. “Am I interrupting something?” 

The woman’s feet flexed and Matsuhara looked over his shoulder. The warm barrel of Asami’s gun pressed into his forehead. “You can finish if you would like. It’s going to be the last pleasure you will ever feel.”

*

She stirred once, making his chest swell with bated breath. Then her head flopped to the side, her breaths still even. Akihito stroked her hand. They alone seemed to be unscathed. He wondered about her mother. Kokoro must have been a petite woman for Hisana to be so small. Asami swore it was a side effect of her premature birth, but Akihito was dubious. His thumb rubbed small patterns as he imagines what his child would look like: a boy with Asami’s hair and his eyes? A girl with Asami’s mind but Akihito’s moral conscience? The generations would span for eons, and the possibilities were so infinite that he could not comprehend them all. 

“You look so serious.”

He jumped, startled out of his reverie. “You’re awake!”

“Yeah,” her voice was brittle, so dry it got stuck somewhere in her throat. She tried to lick her lips, but no moisture could be found on her tongue. “Do you have some water?” 

“Huh? Oh, yeah!” the photojournalist jumped up. Grabbing the pitcher by the bed, he filled a Styrofoam cup with the icy liquid. “Here,” he held the cup to her mouth. “Drink slowly.”

Cracked lips parted, and she gulped down more air than water. The cold drink sloshed in her haste, spilling over the edge. Hisana gasped as the water splashed on her face, running down her cheeks like tears. 

“Shit!” Akihito literally threw the cup over his shoulder. He used his sleeve to sponge up her face as she sputtered and coughed. “I’m so sorry!! I should have propped you up or gotten a straw!”

“S’okay,” Hisana murmured, already enunciating more clearly. “I just wanted to get my mouth wet.”

“Well…at least you did,” he chuckled uncomfortably. He had no idea what to say to her. It was too late for reintroductions, too far gone for first impressions and he had invested so much emotion into her that he was sure she had imprinted herself on his soul. Ryuichi bound them together irrevocably, for neither was liable to disappear. No, this was family and family was forever. Right now, they were awkward in-laws meeting at the wedding, but it would get easier soon enough.

“Feels good,” Hisana tried to grin, but it looked more like a grimace. Akihito could barely nod, and when her smooth fingers slid across his palm, he startled. She gave a reassuring squeeze, making a genuine smile grow on the photographer’s face. “Thanks.”

“Always,” he said so fervently that they both were surprised. 

She swallowed hard. “I know that it must have been…hard for you––I mean, I am sure that you were embroiled in this. That you didn’t stay at the Club, or if you did––”

“Hisana,” he cut her off. Owl eyes blinked at him, as he softly told her, “I mean what I said. I’ll always be here. We’re family now.”

She understood what he was trying to say. He would be there the next time this happened. There for Christmas, birthdays, graduation. Grandchildren. And he would be there the next time someone attacked their family. They were family now, whether or not they liked it. Hisana squeezed his hand before settling deep into her pillows. “So,” she chirped lightly. “How bad do I look? Or, you can just hand me a mirror.”

“Uhhh…”

“That bad, huh?” Hisana tried to let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Never mind.”

Akihito would give her ignorance a little while longer. She looked terrible, and he felt sick every time he looked at her. The crescent cuts on her face were beginning to bruise, as the first layer of deep purple grew beneath porcelain skin. Kou had called twice, asking when it was okay to come visit Cinderella. 

Her limp hand that had been gently holding his tensed. Her claw like nails bit into his palm, and she looked at his grimacing face. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Your question?” Akihito blinked, confused. 

“From earlier,” her eyebrows crossed. “About Mahdi. Where is he?”

“Oh,” the photographer squeezed her hand right back. He had forgotten about the boyfriend who had spoken so kindly to him. “Mahdi’s in surgery right now. Reiko-sensei is operating on him.” He added, trying to be helpful. “Yamagi-sensei was the one who put your ear back on.”

She sniffed. “It itches. I don’t really care about me. How bad of shape is Mahdi in? Is he going to be okay?”

He did not want to make promises and then have the boy die on the table. Reiko-sensei had looked panicked when the Arab was wheeled into the OR. There were so many white sponges soaked with crimson, and they were using an oxygen pump to inflate his lungs. Akihito had absolutely no medical training, but it didn’t look good. “He was shot,” Akihito saw no reason to lie, but he could sugarcoat his words. Yamagi-sensei said that she would remember everything. “A couple of times. Like I said, he’s still in surgery, so I don’t know much more.”

Hisana grabbed the hand that pressed her down. She did not realize that she had been trying to get up this entire time. “I need to see him. Please!” Hospitals had observation decks, places where she could watch. Mahdi would sense her presence. He would fight to stay with her. 

“As soon as he gets out of surgery, we’ll go see him,” Akihito said firmly. “I promise.”

Gold eyes glistened with tears, and Akihito realized that was the closest he would ever get to seeing Asami cry. Still, she listened to him, settling back into her pillows, her body tensing as the long minutes ticked by. 

*

Matsuhara’s foyer was wide open, covered in shining tile. It was as secure as a warehouse, with the security systems disabled and the staff not due for several hours. Matsuhara was strung up similarly to Hisana, the rope wound tightly around the banister. He was still naked, and in the cold moonlight, looked like a wraith, not a man. 

Matsuhara Nobuko was tied to a chair, her legs splayed open. She was as bare as her husband. At the moment, the worst thing she feared was rape. Soon, Asami would show her what real fear was. 

“Asami-sama,” Nakano said from the landing, his arms full of a limp, swaddled thing. “We found the son.”

In his arms, he held the limp body of Matsuhara Tamaki. Even from far away, Asami could see the bandages that wrapped most of his body. The comatose boy was rapidly decaying, even though his heart still beat. “Bring him down,” ordered Asami. If only the punk ass had died sooner, then all of this could have been avoided. “He won’t want to miss the show.”

“Leave him alone!” Nobuko snarled, her old eyes blazing. “He hasn’t done anything to you!”

“Oh, but he has,” Asami bent down to meet her gaze. “The moment her dared to speak to my daughter, he asked to be beaten. When he dared to strike her, to parade her around like a sex trophy, he signed his death certificate.”

“You!” the woman shrieked as her husband whimpered. The man’s own stained boxers were used to gag him, so even if he were allowed to defend his family, he couldn’t. The woman, it seemed, was more courageous than her husband. “You did this to Tamaki!”

“Actually, I did,” Kirishima stepped forward, not about to let someone else get the credit for his work. 

Asami did not bother to stop the cruel sneer the curled his lips. “I only gave the order. Now, I see that I let him off too easily. He should have died then.”

“You bastard!” Nobuko screamed. 

“Now, you can blame your husband for tonight’s festivities,” the fixer taunted the woman. They both looked at the rat like man drawn up on the wall. “I had been content to let sleeping dogs lie, but he––” Asami drew a deep breath. “He was not so easily satisfied. He arranged to have my daughter kidnapped tonight. Did you know about that?”

Nobuko’s jaw tensed, and Asami drew away. “You did. Both of you knew what it meant to cross me, yet still you dared.” 

Matsuhara tried to say something, but all Asami hear were indistinguishable grunts. “Saburo, I am trying to have a civil conversation with your wife,” he chastised the man, enjoying the terror the drowned the room. The tension was suffocating, and it was going to get much worse. “Drop the boy, Nakano. He won’t feel it.”

Tamaki’s body hit the floor, slapped loudly on the tile. Asami watched the arm, severed just above the elbow, it flopped like a dying eel. It was the arm that had struck Hisana. It was only fitting that it was the first to fester and rot.

“They say that talking to a coma patient is good, that they hear everything you say,” Asami motioned for a small trashcan to be brought into the foyer. 

“Leave him out of this!” Nobuko jerked on her restraints. Thick ropes burned her wrinkled skin, only tightening during her struggle, binding her tighter. “He’s suffered enough!”

The fixer pulled out the very puukko that Matsuhara had threatened Hisana with. “Not nearly enough,” he knelt down by the body. Pinching thin eyelashes, Asami pulled the eyelid up. The puukko was sharp; it quickly peeled the skin away. A sightless eye, it’s pupil a wide hole, stared back at him. Asami’s laugh drowned out the mother’s sickening screams. He made quick work of the second eye lid. 

Standing, he dropped the strips of flesh into the trashcan. “String her up by her feet.”

Matsuhara Nobuko screamed and kicked, but Nakano and Suoh were too strong for her. Within minutes, she was hogtied, her feet in the air. “You are a good mother,” Asami told her blandly while the trashcan was moved just below her head. She stared at her son’s eyelids. “You still protect your son after all of this time.”

The fixer motioned to his secretary. He dabbed the woman’s tears with a lacy handkerchief as her son’s body was dumped head first into the trashcan. It fit mostly in, with his feet dangling out. Suoh quickly solved the problem by snapping the boy’s legs. Now, he fit neatly inside, his lidless eyes staring up at his mother’s face. 

“I was considering having you raped,” Asami kept talking to the woman. She was much more interesting than Matsuhara. There would be no greater pain for the husband and father than to watch his family suffer. “Every deed your husband planned to act out on my daughter’s body, I would take from you and your boy tenfold.”

“It wasn’t Tamaki,” the mother could not tear her gaze from her son, whose ribcage slowly swelled and deflated. Even his limp body struggled to breathe in the tight confines of the garbage can. “It was me. My idea. Please…”

Asami looked at Tamaki’s crumpled body. “I believe you,” his warm breath ghosted on her cheek. “So you will be punished first.”

“Please,” she whispered again. Not her child. She had been furious when her handsome boy began to rot, betrayed by his own butler. Tamaki had been an idiot whilst dating Hisana, but his punishment had been too extreme. All she wanted was justice: an eye for an eye, a child for a child.

“Your son will drown in your own blood.”

The knife flashed in the night, sharp steel glinting. He slit her pulmonary vein, full of pressure less blood. It splattered into the plastic can, sounding like hail on metal. Nobuko screamed loudly. “And you will watch,” the crime lord continued. “Watch as you kill your son. He’s looking at you, Nobuko. Can you see him? Your precious child is watching as you kill him. You’ll be the last thing he ever sees.”

Asami glanced at Matsuhara. The man on the wall was wailing, his teeth tearing into his underwear. He struggled to get free, to fight against the man who had come to kill him. But he was powerless against Asami. “Gag her,” he ordered Nakano. 

“Sabuko, you did surprise me. The world knows that your wife has the balls in the marriage, but you were stupid enough to listen to her. You have a daughter as well, no? It is rather fortunate that she is not here, but don’t you worry. I will find her,” Asami promised. 

Matsuhara watched in horror as his wife’s blood streamed from her neck, quickly filling the small trashcan. It was nearing Tamaki’s eyes already. Just a few minutes more, and they both would be dead. The father shouted furiously, but it still was a mumbled mess. Asami ignored him. “You should never have gone after mine, when your's is vulnerable. I’ll put her to work. Her cunt is sure to be stretched and sloppy, but some junkie will pay a few thousand yen for a round with her.”

“You piece of shit!” Matsuhara finally managed to spit out his underwear. “You’ll never touch her!”

“She’ll eat men’s shit, and drink their piss,” Asami quoted nonchalantly. Flicking Nobuko’s blood off of the knife, he pressed the blade into the juncture of Matsuhara’s leg and groin. “Who financed you?” he demanded. “Someone had to put you in contact with the Serbs.”

“No one,” Matsuhara’s eyes narrowed. 

The knife dug into his hip, slicing tendons. Matsuhara’s head reeled back as he wailed. “Try again,” Asami sneered. “You’re too stupid to pull this off by yourself. Who helped you?”

“I’ll never––”

Asami twisted the puukko, making the man howl. Tears of pain rolled down his face, dripping onto his saggy chest. His voice stayed strong. “I’ll never tell!” he wheezed. 

Pulling back, Asami turned on his heel. “Gut them,” he tossed the knife to Suoh. The man deftly caught it. He quickly strode out of the house. “Find the girl, Kei. She’s with whoever masterminded this.

“And kill the entire staff. I want anyone who might want revenge dead.”

He waved his secretary away, opening the SUV door himself. Asami paused for just a moment. There was an anguished caterwaul and the then sound of slick, wet entrails slapping the cold floor. He allowed himself a small smirk as he slid into the car. Revenge always felt orgiastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to finish the next chapter of Hyacinthus Bloomed, before I do anymore for this. It's been almost a month, and I feel bad! The poor story thinks it's being neglected or something. (I know stories aren't sentient, but mine do seem to have a mind of their own!) Only two chapters left in this one, and while I'm sad to see it end, I have a secret project that I have been working on that I can't wait to start publishing!


	11. Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was fun to write. As always, thanks to Miyanoai for beta-ing. She's amazing. Though having a crisis herself, she still managed to get this to me quickly!

Chapter Eleven:

She sat in the wheelchair, her leg propped up straight and a pillow beneath her hip. Akihito stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder as she watched Mahdi’s chest rise and fall. His even breaths were syncopated with the beeping machines, a telltale sign that his heart was strong. 

“It doesn’t look bad,” Hisana murmured, her fingers dusting over his lips, feeling his moist breath. “Though I suppose that the clothes help hide his injuries.” 

“I think it was mostly internal injuries,” the photographer responded. There were no ruptured arteries, according to Reiko-sensei, though he did have to remove large quantities of muscle. “Hopefully there won’t be too much scarring.”

“Yeah, because I was only with him for his body,” Hisana ruefully chuckled. 

Akihito squeezed her shoulder and with a soft smile, she put her hand on his. “Thank you for bringing me to see him,” Hisana said. “I couldn’t stand being away from him when this is all my fault.”

“This isn’t your fault,” The photographer told her. “You aren’t responsible for crazy maniacs bent on revenge. Besides,” he glanced at Ueda, who guarded the doorway with an impassive face and clenched fists. “You need to thank Ueda. He’s the one that found Mahdi, and put you in the wheelchair.”

Hisana looked over her shoulder at the stony faced guard. “Thanks, Ueda.”

“Of course, Musume-sama,” Ueda bowed his head. He then turned his attention back out of the door. 

The sun was slowly starting to peep through the window, with dawn’s spindly fingers pulling away the darkness. “Ryuichi has been gone a long time,” Akihito sighed. 

Hisana squeezed his hand. “These things always take time,” she agreed. 

“You sound like you’ve waited many times,” he teased, trying to keep the mood from getting too somber. This was a good thing: they were all walking away from the night. He would be damned if the family caved in from grief now. 

“So have you,” she sighed solemnly, not ready to be pulled from her melancholy. 

Akihito waited long nights for his lover to come home, so he was unpleasantly used to it. Still, the acknowledgement made him uncomfortable. There was faint grumbling in the hallway, so Akihito pulled back slightly. Nurses were coming in to check on Mahdi again. Three shots to the chest made you a high risk patient. 

“Do you love my dad?” Her voice was strangled, struck somewhere in her throat. She suddenly couldn’t take her eyes off Mahdi––couldn’t bear to look at Akihito. “That’s what this entire trip was about, you see. I wanted to know if you actually cared for him.”

He knew that this conversation was coming, and he had not been keen on having it. She obviously adored her father, loving him beyond his crime and money. It was unfathomable that anyone else could, and the photojournalist had no idea how to assuage her doubts. Love did not exist in Asami Ryuichi’s cold world, yet Aki loved him. 

“Yes,” he could only answer truthfully. Sometimes simple honesty was the best reassurance. “More than I have ever loved anything else.”

The doctors were getting closer. Gold eyes flickered to Ueda and the door. This was not a conversation she wanted to have an audience for. Just like her father, she dismissed the guard as an entity, so used to having them hover. “Good. Kirishima said you did, but I had to see for myself.”

“I get it. It’s hard––”

“Move, please,” a thick voice interrupted. 

“Who are you?” Ueda’s muscled arm blocked the entrance. Akihito and Hisana looked at the disturbance. There was a crowd of dark skinned men with dark eyes outside the room. 

“We are here for Mahdi-sama,” the thickest one said in stilted Japanese. “Abbas-sama wants him home.”

“What?” Hisana shrieked. “La! La!”

Okay, he wasn’t going to be much help if everybody started speaking in Arabic, so he quickly spoke up in Japanese. “He’s just come out of surgery. You can’t move him yet!”

“We can and we will,” the second one, who was just out of Ueda’s deadly reach, retorted. The face of the first man briefly contorted, but it quickly smoothed in the face of Ueda’s fury. 

“Let me talk to Abbas,” Asami’s daughter snarled. “He just doesn’t understand––”

“Your father has already spoken with Abbas-sama,” the first man cut her off. “Abbas-sama did not change his mind. We will be taking him now.”

“Over my dead body!” Hisana hissed. She tried to stand; her face an ugly puce but Akihito forced her back into her chair. 

The declaration must have stirred something in Ueda. As the first man in the Emirate wave surged forward, Asami’s goon pulled his elbow back. Thrusting forward, he cold-cocked the man. The sound of his nose breaking seemed to reverberate in the room. He crumpled like a piece of paper. Ueda easily stepped over him to intercept the next attacker. 

“My purse!” Hisana shouted. She had a gun in her purse, a small .38. “Where’s my purse?”

Only Akihito hadn’t known that. Her purse was still in the limo, its innards ripped out by her father. 

The second man met Ueda’s attack head on. He caught the punch but was unprepared for the elbow to his temple. His shout nearly shattered Akihito’s eardrums. He instinctively pulled Hisana’s chair away from the bed, behind him. Her hands clawed for the metal rail, trying to stay as close to Mahdi as possible. She would throw her body over his if that was what it took. 

Still shouting incoherently, the man rushed at Ueda. Wrapping his arms around the man in a bear hug, he threw them both on the ground. Luckily, Ueda’s trunk-like arms were loose. He grabbed the man’s face and turned it violently. 

However, the distraction gave the last two guards time to sweep in. Guns drawn, the charged Mahdi’s bed. Akihito knew they weren’t there to kill Mahdi or anyone else, but he would be damned if he let them further injure Hisana. Asami’s daughter was pulling herself towards Mahdi, shouting in Arabic.

Ueda was wrestling with the man with the broken nose, and the Arab was winning. Ueda was still disoriented from the fall, and the Arab was slippery. Grabbing Ueda’s gun, he smashed the grip into Ueda’s head three times. As hard as he could. Ueda flopped on the floor, unconscious. 

Akihito knew what he had to do. Stepping forward, arms raised protectively over his head, he used his body as a barrier. The two foreign guards looked surprised at the sudden barricade. Then their eyes hardened. The guns that had been pointed at Hisana were now pointed at him. 

Akihito knew that they wouldn’t hurt him…

They couldn’t…

“Lower your guns immediately,” a voice as frigid as the arctic wind blew around them. 

Hisana’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Daddy…”

Asami saw everything: Hisana’s bloodless fingers gripping Al Madani, willing her body to walk as she pulled herself out of her chair. His lover stood protectively in front of her, his arms open wide. Ueda was stirring on the floor as he palmed for his gun, the dead man beside him. The rest of the Emirate men shifted when Kirishima, Suoh and two other men leveled their guns. They had hoped to extract Mahdi before Asami arrived. 

“Asami-san,” the third one raised his hands into the air. He tried to stay calm. 

“You have thirty minutes to get out of Japan,” the fixer’s grip on his gun tightened. He had heard the shouts as he was getting off the elevator. Hisana’s infuriated snarls, Akihito’s loud words and the sound of bodies hitting the floor. He had never willed his body to move so fast, past the doctors and nurses who flattened themselves against the walls as he passed. Better he stop the commotion than they. “If you stay one second longer, I will assume you wish to be buried here.”

The third man gulped. “Understood,” he jerkily nodded. In thundering Arabic, he commanded the men to take Mahdi and their fallen comrade.

Hisana watched with horrified eyes as they ripped the IV lines off of Mahdi’s arm and lifted him bridal style. “No!” she tried to hold on, but with cold eyes, the man jerked Mahdi out of her grasp. She would have fallen forward had Akihito not grabbed her. “Daddy! Stop them!”

Asami’s gaze was murderous. The Arab shrugged, Mahdi’s body bobbing. 

“No!” she screamed again as they took him away. “Mahdi! Mahdi! Mahdi!” It sounded like her heart was being ripped from her chest. Akihito wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her while she struggled and wailed. 

*

She only stayed in the hospital for two days before coming home. Not to the condo, though. To another safe house. It was far away from Sion and Shinjuku, here no one would look for them. 

Asami did not work for several days afterwards, and neither did Akihito. Hisana was immobile unless in her wheelchair, so she depended on them for everything. At first, she stayed in her room, crying under her sheets. Ruger, a present from Mahdi, was locked in her arms, and Asimov sat dolefully beside her. Even Mumbs was untouched. Asami had offered him to his child, but Hisana hurled the bear into a corner as she shouted for her father to get out. 

“I’m worried about her,” Akihito confessed while he stirred the beef for the sukiyaki. “She isn’t eating.”

Asami sighed and took another drink of his coffee. That was one definite change that Akihito noticed immediately. Having Hisana home made his lover more health conscious, like he was trying to set a good example. Yes, he still smoked and drank, but it was much less frequent. And he quickly subbed out any cigarette if she came into the room. 

“She’s grieving,” Ryuichi replied. “Unfortunately, that takes time.”

“She still shouldn’t be cooped up in that dark room,” the photographer grumbled. The Asami family was a group of stubborn assholes; he would not force her out of her hiding hole, and she refused to speak to anyone but her dogs. 

“She’s had enough trauma. I’ll let her work through this at her own pace.”

Akihito groused some more, but relaxed when Ryu’s thick arms snaked around his waist. Hisana was his daughter, after all. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. So there was no reason for Aki to worry. But he could not help the coiling tension in his gut. 

*

The phone rang at three o’clock in the morning. They had just fallen asleep after several rounds of gentle lovemaking (apparently, ever home Asami had came equipped with a soundproofed room). It was some wailing English song that jerked him awake, and as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, Akihito realized that it must have been Hisana’s phone. It sat innocuously silent on the table for days, only to now flare to life. 

“Ughhhaaa…” he groaned. If he answered it, the noise would stop. 

Ryuichi tossed the thick duvet away. His feet loudly slapped on the floor as he stomped into the kitchen. Akihito collapsed further into his pillow, pulling the sheets over his head. Anything to block out the noise. 

It was a foreign number––European. 

“What?” he snarled into the phone. 

“We just heard!”

“Is she okay?”

“You’re on speaker!”

Oh God. Teenage girls. At three in the fucking morning. He was going to find the first telephone operator he could and shoot the idiot for letting this call go through. “She’ll live,” was his terse response. He winced as there was lots of appalled squeals and swears. Yes, somebody was going to die painfully. 

“We love her!”

“––just to check in!”

“And cheer her up!”

“If she needs anything––”

The phone clicked off speaker before Asami had an aneurysm. “My name is Charlisa,” a sultry voice said. This girl seemed to sense that he was considering having all of them murdered in their sleep, and took preventative measures. “We didn’t mean to wake you. Give our love to Hisana, Mr. Asami, and have her call me when she can.”

“I will,” he hung up the phone. 

Blearily massaging his face, he tossed the damn cell away. It was mercifully on silent now. 

“Daddy?” a soft call echoed down the hallway. 

Asami’s heart stuttered as he walked towards his daughter’s room. He quickly groped his hips. Pants? He had on pants. Hisana was lying on her bed, pillows cushioning her hip. “Who was it?” her bodiless voice asked from the darkness. 

“Charlisa,” his deep voice rumbled. “Along with several other caterwauling girls.”

“Oh,” she sounded defeated. She had hoped it was from her now ex-boyfriend, and not her friends. “They…they don’t know about us. You didn’t…?”

“No,” Asami leaned against the doorway. “I don’t usually discuss that side of the business with strangers.”

“Except for Mom,” Hisana stared at the ceiling. 

He balked. “Your mother was out of our lives long before I built this empire.”

“Not Kokoro,” she amended. “Mom––Akihito. He knows, right?”

“Yes,” Asami tried to mask the surprise that jolted through him. Hisana had always been pleasant to his past lovers, but never so accepting. He had never let her get close with any of them, little shits who were only with him for his money. Most did not even get to meet her. “He knows.”

“I thought so. I brought it up at the hospital, and he didn’t seem shocked. That’s when I figured out that he was going to be around for a while,” she admitted. She swallowed loudly. “Charlisa knows––about everything, probably. She’s Simone Garcia’s daughter.”

A Spanish woman and matchmaker. She arranged marriages between the wealthy, and helped the common man find mail order brides. Asami was very familiar with her business, though he personally had never used it. The Al Madani’s moved human cargo for her frequently. Not all of her brides were willing participants. 

“I’ll never see Mahdi again, will I?” she tried to blink back the tears, but he could hear her sniffling. 

Asami crossed the room in two steps. Ruger yelped when he nearly sat on her. He didn’t care. Hisana had her arms held aloft, and he crushed her against his chest. She sobbed, her hot tears striking his bare chest. “I’m sorry, baby girl. So sorry.”

“I––I know *hic* that *hic* you couldn’t stop them. Not if Abbas wanted him back *hic*! But it hurts, Daddy!”

As he stroked soothing circles on her heaving back, Asami was whisked back in time to when she was a small child. She would run to his arms late in the night when the lightning flashed and thunder shook the building. The villains of her books, spiders and all the mundane things of life he could protect her from. But the weather…Mother Nature took orders from no man. Hisana felt that insecurity deep in her soul. 

“I know, baby girl,” he pressed feather light kisses into her hair. “I know.”

She cried for a long time, and her father held her until she cried herself to sleep. Only then did he tuck Mumbs into her arms and pulled the sheets over her shoulders. Akihito was laying awake, waiting for him. Asami pulled the love of his life to his chest, the knot in his soul unfurling. They drifted off to sleep, and he knew, at last, that all was well. 

*

Asami returned to work soon thereafter. Japan’s underworld had been shockingly quiet in the wake of the massacre. In total, seventy-three people had been killed. It consisted mostly of Matsuhara’s household and staff, but there were enough foreign bodies to set the criminals on edge. Something had infuriated Asami Ryuichi, and until they figured out what the hell had happened, the world walked on a razor’s edge. 

His meet with Hashimoto was long overdue. The smalltime yakuza had reached out to Asami the day following the shootout, demanding answers. Asami was more concerned with his hospitalized child, but promised to explain in person. Such was his power that a disgruntled Hashimoto agreed to wait. As a show of good will, Asami agreed to meet him on his home turf: an upscale casino and restaurant. 

“Asami,” Hashimoto rose from his seat. He had a firm handshake, something Asami appreciated. “This meeting is long overdue.”

“Yes,” Asami unbuttoned his suit jacket before taking the seat across from Hashimoto. “I had a household issue that required my undivided attention.”

Hashimoto’s gaze darkened. “That shouldn’t have been your only concern. You are dangerously close to starting a war.” Though Asami Ryuichi was the powerhouse in Japan, he was still human. If enough of the families banded together, they could take out many of his trading routes, crippling his business. They could not topple his regime, but they could hurt him. Maybe even get rid of that boy he doted on. 

“I would start a thousand wars if it meant protecting what is mine,” Asami drawled. He would not be intimidated by a dog nipping at his heels. The waiter delivered two medium rare filet mignons and a bottle of red wine. 

Ever the gracious host, Hashimoto popped the bottle and took the first drink: proof that it was not poisoned. “The Crimson Rose is nowhere near your territory, Asami. It isn’t yours,” he tried to keep his temper and his voice even. “You had no business shooting seven of my men––”

“Have you heard of a man named Matsuhara Sabuko?” Asami interrupted. Hashimoto would build himself into a tirade, and he did not have the time to wait for its crescendo.

That stopped the inconspicuous man up short. “He has money, but he isn’t one of us. Or rather, he wasn’t when you slaughtered him.” The press attributed the brutal murders to gang violence. Hashimoto knew better. 

“He kidnapped a relative of mine, and held her hostage in the attic of your brothel. I did what I needed to do to ensure her safety.”

“Bullshit!” Hashimoto retorted. He dropped his knife and fork as he shouted. “No one could do that without me knowing!”

Golden eyes narrowed and a gun suddenly appeared on the table. “Exactly.”

“Now wait just a damn minute,” Hashimoto back-peddled. “I didn’t collaborate with him! I’m not stupid enough to start a war over some boy you like! Or whatever granny you have tucked away in God knows where!”

“I highly doubt that,” the fixer sneered. As the waiter reproached them, he quietly placed a napkin over his gun. “Nonetheless, someone was backing Matsuhara. He didn’t have the brains or the connections to pull this off.”

“It wasn’t me,” Hashimoto protested again. “I’ll aid you in any way I can, but I swear, I’ve never even spoken to the man.”

“I don’t need your help,” Asami stood from the table. “I am capable of eradicating any threat. But, if I find out you had any hand in this, I will gut you like I did that piece of shit.”

Asami walked away, Kirishima and Suoh beside him. They could not be late for dinner. Akihito was making a hot pot, and Hisana demanded to hang out with her adopted uncles. After his family fell asleep, they would track down Matsuhara’s daughter. 

*

“I haven’t gotten Dad anything for his birthday yet,” Hisana confessed. She sat in her motorized wheelchair at one end of the hallway. A giant cardboard tube was tucked under her arm. 

“You don’t need to get him anything,” Akihito loudly replied. He was at the other end of the hall, sitting in Ryu’s office chair, which conveniently had wheels. He had an identical cylinder under his good arm. “You being here is enough.” Plus, neither one had the ability to get out of the safe house to go shopping. Asami had put them both on lockdown for until he found Matsuhara’s backer.

Hisana looked pointedly at her bruised body. “Oh yeah. This was a great homecoming.”

“At least the doctor said you can start trying to walk in a few days,” Akihito shrugged. The physical therapist was coming to get her butt up out of that chair, and he wasn’t sure who was more excited. “Besides, Ryu has everything.”

“Not everything,” Hisana shook her head. “Charge!” 

Akihito pulled his bare feet on the floor, making the chair roll as fast as he could. Hisana gunned the motor on her chair as they both leveled their makeshift lances. They collided with a resounding thump, the cardboard crunching but not bending. They laughed loudly, even though it kind of hurt.

“This is amazing!” Akihito laughed as he pulled his chair towards the end of the hall. “What is this called again?”

“Jousting,” she was lucky and had a motor. Not fair. But then again, Akihito could use his legs. “Medieval Europeans used to do it.”

“Kou and Takato would love this!” he giggled. Oh yeah, he was going to have so much fun with his friends. Back to the topic at hand, “Seriously. Ryu has everything he could ever want.”

Hisana scrunched her face up. “Nu-uh!”

“He does,” the photographer solemnly promised. “I swear.”

“Not a flying car,”

“That’s not a real thing!” his mouth dropped open. 

She shrugged, and adjusted in her seat, readying for their next assault. “He still doesn’t have one.”

“He has a plane, so same thing.”

They charged again. This time, Hisana’s lance crumpled against his chest, tearing the cardboard and sending brown paper pieces into the air. She pouted and Akihito raised his hands in victory. 

“Really though, I wish I could do something nice for your dad,” he sighed. His victorious lance clattered to the floor as Akihito rubbed his face. “Last year, I got him a tie, and that’s so boring. I want to do something special.”

Her eyes glistened as they narrowed. Akihito was stunned by how much she resembled Asami. It was a look he had seen on the fixer’s face a thousand times. “If you say sex, I’m going to vomit. And I won’t clean it up,” she threatened. 

He chuckled uncomfortably. Hisana had been very accepting of their relationship, but balked at anything physical. It made Akihito uncomfortable. “Does it really freak you out, your dad and me?” After all, he was only four years older than Hisana. It was natural for her to have some aversion, right? Plus, she was a very traditional person. Those kinds of people tended to frown at homosexual relationships. 

Her eyes widened. “Yes!” she exclaimed. His heart fell into his stomach. “I mean, think about your parents doing it! It’s gross. Now, you and Dad don’t have sex. I came from a stork. End of story,” she made a slashing movement with her hand. “No sex.”

Parents. His heart always fluttered when she said that. She had taken to calling him ‘Mom’. The first time it happened, he thought she was making fun of him. Now, he knew it was her way of accepting him into the family. 

“If I could at least make him a cake or something,” he switched topics for her sake. She was looking decidedly green. “Unlike you, he doesn’t like sweets.” Hisana was like Aki. She’d eat any chocolate she could get her hands on. 

“Just make him a peanut butter almond cake,” Hisana shrugged. “Do you think I can push a broom with this thing, or should I just wait for Kirishima?” she stared hard at the mess on the floor. 

“A what?” he cried. 

“A broom,” Hisana snorted. “The thing people used before the vacuum.”

“No! No! No!” the photographer shook his head, aghast. “The cake! You mean Ryu will actually eat cake and not look like he just put something sour in his mouth?!”

“Well…yeah,” his daughter shrugged. “My grandmother used to make them for him. It’s more tangy and salty than sweet.”

Sweet mother of all that was holy. He was going to make his bastard of a lover a birthday cake. A real one. And Ryu was going to like it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully everyone in the northeast of the United States is hunkered down. The news called it something akin to a snow hurricane, so everyone be safe!
> 
> Thank you for all of yours reviews, bookmarks, favs, kudos, and follows. You all are amazing and I am so glad that you have enjoyed this fic! It's the penultimate chapter, guys. We're almost done!


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! The last chapter!
> 
> As always, thank you to Miyanoai. Though busy preparing for a con, and surviving a terrible snow storm (which apparently wasn't as bad as the news made it out to be), she still found time to edit this.

Chapter Twelve:

The ceramic mug shattered on the white wall. Akihito scooted out of the way, not wanting to get hit by friendly fire––or in this case, furiously unfriendly fire. Golden eyes blazed as the coffee stained the once pristine paint. Ryu sat on the other side of the table, gaze narrowing as his daughter seethed. Akihito glanced at the dripping wall, his jaw dropping. Damn, Hisana could throw. 

“What do you mean I’m not going back to Oxford?” 

“You can barely walk, and Reiko-sensei has not released you from his care yet,” the fixer began to fold his paper. Akihito’s blood ran cold. That was never a good sign. 

“And England doesn’t have doctors?” she sarcastically snarled. “Mahdi won’t be there, so that shouldn’t be a problem!” He had already graduated, she pouted. They had nearly convinced Abbas to let him stay in London, acting as his European liaison. 

“That has nothing to do with this,” though he refused to pay for them to play house. “You’re still injured, and I haven’t ferreted out Matsuhara’s partner yet.” After such a close call, he wanted her close by, where he could keep an eye on her at all times. “Besides, your mother likes having you here.”

“Hey!” Akihito bristled. Damn that smug jerk could not resist getting a dig in. “Don’t call me a girl!”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a girl,” Hisana sniffed. Feminism 101, baby. “Seriously, Daddy,” she crossed her arms. “I’ve got a year left. I can’t just drop out because a little kerfuffle at home!”

Akihito’s head swiveled. “What the fuck is a kerfuffle?”

“You will be taking this semester off,” Asami interrupted them. “Afterwards, we will discuss you transferring to Keio University.”

“What?” she shrieked. Her fingers danced across the table, searching for something else to throw. Akihito quickly swiped her knife and fork––just in case. “I’m not going to some two-bit university––” 

“Hey!” the photographer cut her off. Keio University was a prestigious institute of learning. And ritzy, too!

“I went to a community university,” Asami smoothly interjected. 

Hisana snorted in derision. Apparently, she did not think highly of the local schools, or Keio. “Well, I go to Oxford.”

“Not anymore,” drawled Asami. 

“Please, Daddy,” she pulled away from the table. Akihito was surprised. He expected banshee-esque wails and caterwauling swears, not a gentle, profession tone. “I have a life there. Friends. A job. Please don’t take that from me. England is safe. Oxford is safe.”

Asami rose to get another cup of coffee. He wordlessly poured one for Hisana as well. The teen was taciturn, giving her father the opportunity to really think about her arguments. Akihito did not expect that, either, but rather the wheedling of a spoiled princess. 

As he sat back down, Asami finally answered her. “I’ve already sent men to clean out your apartment,” he confessed. “You are going to stay in Japan, with me or at your grandmother’s. Whichever you prefer.”

Large gold eyes squeezed shut. “No. Daddy, you can’t…do this to me…”

Asami’s face remained stoic, but Akihito knew his lover well enough to sense his turmoil. He hated making her unhappy, but as her father, Asami would do what was best for her. “Now if you feel that strongly about getting your degree from Oxford, I can arrange for you to take online classes, or watch the lectures on a video feed.”

She blinked fat tears away. “That’s not the point.”

“I know.” She wanted her youth and her freedom. Sadly, the world had stolen both from her. Akihito stayed quiet. It was not his place to offer his input. After all, he was still trying to figure out this weird family’s dynamic. Nothing happened the way he thought it would. 

His lover continued, “My decision is still final. You may hate Japan, and hate me. But you will be alive, and that is enough for me.”

She slumped forward, burying her head in hers arms. “I’ll never hate you. Be angry, yes, but never hate.”

Asami wore the slightest of smiles. 

“Call your men home,” Hisana offered a wan grin. “Nothing in that penthouse is valuable. I can buy new clothes here.”

Asami nodded. His men were already in London. They could at least bring back her prized collection of books. She had enough to fill her own library. They would make Japan a little more bearable.

*

“You took that remarkably well,” Akihito told her when they were alone later on that day. Ryu had gone to work, and they were snuggled up on the couches, playing Modern Warfare. Hisana was unfairly good, but not as good as the photographer. She would give Kou a run for his money, though. 

“Oh no, I’m pissed,” Hisana shrugged. “I know him. He won’t change his mind unless he wants to.”

“You got that right,” Akihito viciously pressed the A button. The soldier on his screen burst open in a shower of red guts. He quickly left the area, searching for his next victim. 

“Yup. So revenge it is,” his grinned as she knifed her opponent.

“Huh?” Akihito quickly turned to look at her, his mouth open wide. He must have heard her incorrectly. 

The screen went dark. Game Over flashed in white on the black. Hisana leaned back, reading the stats. “I’m not going to let him get away with this. I’ll get him to change his mind, and make him think it was his idea.” She glanced over at him with a wicked smirk. “If I were you, I wouldn’t drop trou for a while.”

Akihito reflexively covered his junk with the controller, scooting over to the other end of the sofa. “Why?” It came out hesitant, but then again, the photographer wasn’t sure he really wanted to know her machinations. 

The new game started. “Kids are the biggest cockblock ever. Dad’s going to hit the longest dry spell of his life. I really don’t want to see your bits, so keep your pants on.”

He was definitely going to now. There was no way he could go months without sex. Three days turned him into a wound up horn dog. Months would do him in. And Ryu…he was much more violent when they hit a dry spell. At least, the thought of them naked repelled Hisana. That was one weapon they had in their arsenal. 

Hisana winked at Akihito. “I can’t wheedle him. That only cements his decision. However, I figure you want the D,” she shuddered. “Given enough time, you’ll put the idea in his head. Dad will think on it, but he’ll be itching to get some so badly by then that I will be on the next flight out.”

That explained why she said to leave her stuff in England. Akihito was impressed. It was a good plan.

*

Like many men, Hashimoto Toshiro had taken a much younger mistress. She lay beside him plastically beautiful. Her new breasts heaved as she slowly came down from her climax. Matsuhara Yua was the standard yakuza mistress, and she accepted her role with dignity. 

“Are you going to tell me how your meeting with Asami Ryuichi went?” she asked at last, when her heart rate had slowed enough to speak evenly. 

“He is looking for you,” the smalltime yakuza confessed. “He doesn’t know you are with me, though, and I convinced him that I had nothing to do with the kidnapping.”

Yua rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. “So you will lie low like a coward, even though he slaughtered my family?”

Hashimoto’s black eyes narrowed. “Watch your tone, woman. I will avenge your family. You have had my word already. But these things take time. I cannot afford to tip my hand too soon.”

Yua lay back down. “I hate them. For everything they have ever done. I want them dead.”

“I know,” Hashimoto touched her swollen stomach, where his son’s burgeoning life bloomed. 

“The girl doesn’t matter to me,” Yua put her hand on him. “She may have been the catalyst, but it was Asami Ryuichi who acted. I want his head on a silver platter. Promise me, Toshiro, that you will kill him.”

Hashimoto knew his illegitimate heir was on borrowed time if the Asami family lived. They would eradicate any entire enemy bloodline and absorb their wealth. For his child, and his small empire, Hashimoto Toshiro agreed. 

“I promise.”

*

The doorbell rang. 

“I’ll get it,” Akihito shouted needlessly. It was only he and Hisana in the penthouse. Ryu was at work, and the heiress had another week in her chair, doctor’s orders. She had slipped in the shower, the one place where nobody could hold her (because Kirishima’s wife was out of the country). Rather than let anyone carry her out of the bathroom, Hisana dragged herself to a robe and then out of the bathroom. Ryu had been furious. 

“Aki-chan!” Kou threw his arms around his friend. “Long time no see!”

“You saw him last Tuesday,” Takato pulled the brunette off their friend. “Don’t exaggerate so much.”

The photojournalist grinned. “C’mon in, guys.”

Kou barreled past him, carrying a bag of snacks. “Where’s Cinderella?” He looked around the genkan wildly, kicking off his shoes. 

“She’s on the couch,” Akihito took one of the cases of beer from Takato. 

“I worry about him, sometimes,” Takato confessed as they watched Kou scamper down the hallway. 

The brunette whistled loudly. “Sweet new digs, Aki-chan!” 

Akihito ducked his head. He hadn’t told the guys the complete truth, saying they were renting this place because it was close to Hisana’s doctor. Which it was, but that was just coincidentally convenient. 

“Cinderella!” Kou jubilantly exclaimed. 

“Hey Kou,” Hisana smiled at him. She was sitting in the middle of the sofa, pillows surrounding her, and a fluffy blanket on her legs. “How’s it going?”

Kou glanced at her wheelchair in the corner of the room, and tried to keep up the cheery disposition that one always had when visiting the sick. “Really good. Work has been a bitch, though.”

“I’m sorry,” she pouted prettily. “How’s Momo?” 

“She’s good,” Kou put his hands awkwardly in his pockets. He tried to look at her, but the wheelchair was so much more interesting. “She’s really good.” 

“Uh-huh,” her eyes glazed over. Takato quickly took over the conversation. Out of all of the boys, he by far had the most tact. 

“So, Akihito said you dislocated your hip,” he said. 

“The right hip. And I chipped the head of my femur,” Hisana nodded. It sounded so much more hardcore than it actually was. 

Takato winced sympathetically. “Ouch,” he, too, felt awkward, and was not sure what else he could say. The conversation was treading on dangerous ground already. He, Kou, and Rinka had talked late into the night, wondering why she had been kidnapped. Rinka posited extortion, but the boys remembered the year before, and the long haired Chinese man. “Akihito said you fell.”

Hisana glanced at the photographer. She licked her lips. “From three stories up onto a cement floor.” The Crimson Rose has not been a particularly luxe establishment. 

“Really?” Kou finally looked her in the eye. “Because we didn’t believe––”

“Shuddup!” Takato elbowed him hard. 

She laughed uncomfortable. “I really did. Mom, Daddy, Kirishima and Suoh even––none of them got hurt. I was just being clumsy.”

Akihito hadn’t been there, but from the death toll, and Mahdi’s chest, he did not believe her. He would never ask, though. He did not want to know. 

“When do you get to start walking again? I mean, a chipped bone still counts as a broken bone, right? That has to take a long time to heal,” Takato sat across from her and clasped his hands. 

“There isn’t anything that the doctors can do,” Hisana shrugged. “They popped it back in place, and I’m good to try walking next week.”

Kou was on her right, careful to give her wide berth. “I can’t stand not being able to move around. I have to pee way too much.”

“That’s because you drink too much!” Akihito wrapped his arm around her shoulders. 

They all laughed, and she sank into his chest. “It’s frustrating,” she admitted. “But Mom takes good care of me.”

“Mom?” Kou’s mouth dropped as Hisana felt Akihito stiffen. Oops. She may have just put her foot in her mouth. 

“What did I say?” she asked. 

“Nothing. Do you want something to eat?” Akihito asked quickly, very aware that his face was cherry red. Anything to get out of the room. Kou was valiantly trying to stifle his laughter. Takato shook his head, his shoulders shaking. 

Hisana’s face brightened. “Will you grill me a cheese?”

“Sure,” he grinned. It was a western food, but the photographer enjoyed them. “Do you guys want one?” he asked as he pushed her off of him. 

“What is it?” Takato wrinkled his nose. “It sounds gross.”

“It isn’t,” Akihito shook his head. “You melt cheese between buttered bread.”

“They’re delicious,” Hisana batted her golden eyes at Kou’s disgusted face. Akihito felt sick to his stomach. She was flirting with Kou. Eww. “You should try one. For me.”

“I’ll make several,” Akihito put a stop to it. “They’re easy to make.”

“Kou, you need to learn!” Takato teased. “So you won’t nearly kill yourself again with food poisoning!”

Hisana laughed loudly while the brunette protested that it only happened once. The photographer bustled around the kitchen, immensely pleased that his friends were getting along with Hisana so well. It was like they were adding another guy to the group. And as Kou pointed out loudly, she could get them into clubs that Akihito was too embarrassed to go to. Who knew, he glanced into the living room, maybe the omiai would end up happening after all. 

There was a low buzzing sound. He looked around for a moment. He knew that he had not turned on the stove yet. What could––oh. Hisana’s phone, surprisingly untouched for a teenage girl’s phone, was ringing. The black iPhone vibrated, Mahdi’s smiling face lighting up the screen. 

His fingers shook as he reached for the phone. He didn’t have to answer it; he should not have answered it. Mahdi had no business calling. Just let it go to voicemail. He would never know. Then he heard his voice shake, and Akihito realized that he had answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Akihito?” Mahdi’s deep voice rumbled in harsh Japanese. “Where’s Hisana? Is she all right?” 

“Uh, yeah,” he shook his head. Akihito had to keep his voice low, because the living room was so close. If Hisana was anything like Ryu, then she had exceptional hearing. “She’s fine.”

There was a deep sigh and a muttered prayer in Arabic. “Is she nearby?” he sounded elated. “May I speak to her?” 

Akihito froze. He had no idea what to say as he banged the pans around loudly. “Mom?” Hisana called. “Are you okay?”

He put the phone to his chest in an attempt to muffle his voice. “I’m fine!”

“Was that her?” Mahdi asked excitedly. “Where is she?” When the photographer did not answer, he sighed. “You aren’t going to let me talk to her, are you?”

“No.”

“I…” the Arab choked out. “Does she––” Akihito’s heart broke, and from the sound of it, so did Mahdi’s. “Will you pass along a message for me?” He knew that the blonde was not going to answer him, so he hurried on. “Just tell her that I am sorry, and that I love her. Please, Akihito-san.”

Akihito’s mouth was dry as his voice raspy when he answered, “I will.”

“Thank you,” Mahdi breathily said. “Thank you.”

Akihito disconnected the call before the Arab could say anything else. Akihito liked Mahdi, truly. Yet even the photographer knew that it was bad to keep up the contact. He knew what Ryu would do to stop it. Glancing up when he heard the raucous laughter from the living room, his gut made the choice for him. Akihito quickly erased the phone call and then Mahdi’s number. 

That would be the end of it. 

He never told Hisana about the call, or Ryu. They did not need to ruminate on it, and create some international incident. No, he would pretend like it had never happened, and that Mahdi Al Madani had left their lives back in the hospital. 

*

Asami Ryuichi knew that he lover was planning a surprise birthday party for him. Akihito’s emotions were transparent whenever birthday talk came up. He would stumble over his words, and flush when he declared that there was no reason to make a big deal out of it. The boy had outdone himself last year, so it was natural that he try for something grander. 

What was troublesome was the fact that Hisana seemed to be in on it as well. It was not that she knew about the surprise, it was the smug smirk that she gave him every time she looked at him. It was full of insidious promise, and did not bode well for him. She did not even try to hide the fact that something was afoot, preferring to make him stew in tortuous dread. Asami had a feeling that she was going to enjoy his birthday more than he was. 

It turned out not to be a surprise birthday party. Thankfully. 

Gold eyes snapped open to the most delicious sight. A very naked Akihito pressed a coaxing kiss to his lips, his pink tongue gently probing Asami’s mouth. The fixer immediately wound his fingers through his photographer’s blond hair. The other hand spanned the boy’s back, pulling him to Asami’s chest. 

“Good morning, birthday boy,” Akihito smiled sleepily. 

“A very good morning, indeed,” Asami kissed him again. 

“We ordered breakfast in,” Akihito tried to push off his lover. Hands intertwined with Asami’s, he pulled the man up. 

The stubborn birthday boy pulled him in for another deep kiss. “Birthday sex first,” he demanded. 

“Ryu!” Akihito laughed in protest even as he slid his legs around the fixer’s waist. “It’s hot,” he pressed kisses along Ryu’s strong jaw. “It’ll get cold.”

Asami groaned lowly. Wrapping his arms around Akihito’s slim shoulders, he flipped them both until the photographer was pinned beneath him. It had been too long. He had forgotten how invasive a child was. Hisana was everywhere at once it seemed, and Akihito was attached to her hip. Though Asami was pleased that the two had taken to each other so well, he missed being able to fuck Akihito in any room he felt like. 

At least he could fuck him here, Asami thought as he ran his hands over the boy. Akihito squirmed, his body painted in a rosy flush. He panted when Asami bit one of his nipples and flicked the other until it peddled hard under his fingers. 

“Ugh,” the boy moaned. He tossed his head side to side. Akihito kept Asami’s head firmly pressed to his chest, which made the fixer smirk. His free hand ghosted down Akihito’s flexing stomach to the leaking erection that pressed into them. 

“Mom!”

Akihito squirmed out of Asami’s hold quickly. A mortified blush colored his face as he scrambled for his clothes. “Oh shit! Shit!” he tried to pull his pants on, but ended up shoving both feet into the same leg hole. “Shit!”

“Mom! What’s taking so long?” Hisana called again. “I can’t find the matches!”

“I was supposed to wake you up,” Akihito explained when he saw Asami’s dumbfounded expression. “But I kinda got carried away…”

But…but it was his birthday. It was his day to get what he wanted, when he wanted it. And right now, Asami wanted Akihito naked, ass high up in the air. 

“Meet us in the kitchen after your shower,” his little lover pressed one last kiss to his cheek. “We’ll be waiting for you!”

Asami watched as Akihito slipped out of their room. When had he put on a shirt? The door clicked quietly shut, and he was reminded of that phone call six weeks ago. It had started this debacle, bringing her home in the process. To where she was underfoot, and he wasn’t getting his daily dose of Akihito’s ass. 

He needed to get her out of his house. Pronto. Asami remembered why sending her to Oxford had been so appealing in the first place. He would have Kirishima look into it. 

*

“It’s his birthday!” Akihito hissed the moment he saw her. “Can’t you lay off this manipulative persuasion for one day?”

“Never!” she chuckled malevolently. She poured two cups of coffee, and one breakfast tea. “He’s cracking. I can see it in his eyes.”

“So am I!” Akihito fisted his hair. “If I don’t get laid soon–––”

“Finish that sentence,” she wheeled around, eyes blazing. “I dare you.”

“It’s just sex,” he snapped. He was really horny, and it was making him waspish. 

“No sex,” she emphatically repeated. “Miracle stork baby,” Hisana pointed at herself, and then pointed at Akihito. “Unfortunately celibate for all eternity.”

“Can’t you be mature for just five minutes?” Akihito snapped. “You’re driving me crazy!”

Hisana shrugged and dropped two sugars into Akihito’s coffee. “I’m nineteen. Immaturity is my middle name.” Besides, she could imagine her dad stewing, plotting. He was near his breaking point. Soon, she would be on her way to her education and freedom. Step two would be to free Mahdi from Abbas’s evil clutch. 

They bickered the rest of the morning, until the birthday man finally made an appearance. 

*

Candles. He should have realized that Hisana would need to find the missing matches to light his candles. Akihito always made him a cake in an attempt to persuade the fixer to like sweets. It was a useless effort, really. His mother and grandmother disliked anything saccharine as well, be it food or emotional. They had tried to pass that lifestyle on to Hisana. It was a futile effort as well. 

Hisana was sitting at the table, laughing at Akihito, who had chopsticks stuck under his upper lip like a walrus. He sighed. This was his family. 

“Daddy!” his daughter smiled brightly when she saw him. “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you, baby girl,” Asami accepted her hug, lifting her off her chair. 

“Seat of honor, Ryu,” Akihito ushered him to the head of the table. “Your coffee is ready for you.”

The birthday cake was sitting in the middle of the table, tall and proud. Akihito looked extremely pleased with himself as he puttered around the kitchen. His hips swayed flirtatiously as he sat the napkins and plates on the table. 

He then sat down with a proud smile. “Just a second, Ryu,” he struck a match, and leaned across the table to light the single candle on the cake. “Now remember,” he said seriously, waving out the flame. “You have to make a wish.”

Asami raised an eyebrow at the photographer’s serious declaration. Both Hisana and Akihito watched him expectantly, but he did not move. The seconds ticked by. He had nothing to wish for. All he wanted, all he loved, sat beside each other, smiling. Asami had more money that God, controlled his empire with an iron fist, and had miraculously been able to keep those two alive. Better yet, they cared for each other. His greatest fears had never been realized. Yes, Asami Ryuichi wanted for nothing. 

“Hurry up, Daddy!” Hisana chimed. “The wax is starting to drip onto your cake! And Mom worked hard on it.”

He could only think of one thing. Shoulders squared, Asami blew. The flame flickered and vanished, leaving a twisting spine of smoke to rise. Hisana clapped politely, and Akihito looked pleased that Asami had taken the wish seriously. Of course, Asami only had to placate his family, but Akihito needn’t know that. 

“Drat,” his lover tried not to swear around Hisana. Asami thought it was adorable. “I forgot to get the knife to cut the cake.”

“I’ll get it,” Hisana piped up before Asami could say anything. 

He barely registered it before she pushed away from the sleek table, and stood. He did not bother to hide the widening of his eyes, his pupils dilating, and his lips parting as she walked on steady legs to the counter. “Happy birthday, Daddy,” she kissed his cheek as she sat the knife down beside him. 

“When?” his voice was hoarse. 

“We’ve been working on it all week,” she admitted, slyly winking at Akihito. “We couldn’t think of anything else to get you. I thought someone was going to get too antsy and spill the beans early, though.”

Akihito held up his hands, “I’m not good at keeping secrets, and I told you that.” He snagged the knife to cut Asami the first piece. 

“I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t have to,” the girl took her seat as her self-appointed mother cut the cake. 

A piece sat in front of each of them. “The birthday boy gets the first bite,” the photographer prodded. “Eat up.”

Asami stilled, which made Hisana giggle. She was truly evil, not warning him about the sugary breakfast. But he was the great Asami Ryuichi, fearless in the face of danger and dessert. Akihito had made this especially for him, so he was going to eat it. Or one piece of it, at least. 

The nutty flavor surprised him. “Is this an almond cake?”

Akihito emphatically nodded. “Yeah. Hisana said that you used to eat them for your birthday.”

“Every holiday,” Asami took a sip of his coffee. The two flavors mixed well, surprisingly. “It was my grandfather’s favorite.”

“I didn’t know that,” Hisana said between mouthfuls. 

“I know it was supposed to have peanut butter icing,” the blond boy journalist rambled. “But Ueda couldn’t find any. Apparently it’s an American thing, and you have to go to a specialty store. So I put a honey glaze on it, instead.”

“I dunno, Mom, this is pretty good,” Hisana was munching happily. 

“It’s perfect,” Asami met his boy’s eyes. Taking Akihito’s hand in his, he squeezed. “Thank you.”

The blush that bloomed across the blond’s cheeks was as glorious as the sunrise after a storm. 

*

“Where do you think you are going?” Asami asked. He stood by Akihito, hand washing the dishes from breakfast. His lithe lover hummed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. 

“I’m taking the dogs out for a walk,” Hisana answered. She was dressed in a casual skirt and flat shoes. Just the way he liked her: fully covered and in shoes that would not strain her hip. 

“Are you sure that is a good idea?” He thought it wasn’t. 

“I’m meeting up with Kou for lunch––” Asami growled softly, “––and I’m not hanging around here while you two do the nasty,” she wagged her finger between the two of them. “So yeah. It’s a great idea.”

It took him a moment to decipher her teen speak. His grip on the dishrag tightened. “Make sure that you take your phone, and several of my men.”

“Several?” she argued. “How about two?”

Akihito started rubbing his hip against Asami’s leg. “Two seems fair,” Asami said just a little too quickly. 

“Great,” Hisana grinned. “Text when it’s safe for me to come home.”

The door had not even shut before Asami tossed the photographer over his shoulder. “Hey!” Akihito laughed and teasingly flailed. 

Asami slapped the boy’s wiggling ass. “Don’t tease me now,” he warned as he pulled Akihito’s pants down. “I’m already going to fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to walk for a week. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

“Ooohhhh…yessss…” Akihito moaned loudly when two dry fingers were shoved inside him. “Just like that, Ryu.” Hard and fast and rough. Oh God, he needed it so bad. He was going crazy. He needed Asami to reach a place deep inside, to be split in two and stitched back together with the man’s cum. 

Asami smirked and tossed his naked boy onto their bed. “As you wish, kitten.”

Akihito was even willing to let the kitten comment slide as he invitingly spread his legs.  
*

Hisana enjoyed walking around Shinjuku, completely free. The summer breeze blew in her unbound hair, raking through it like a lover’s fingers. It was heavenly. Ueda and Nakano were two steps behind her, quiet unless spoken to. Right now, she wasn’t in the mood to speak. She wanted to get lost in her music: Taylor Swift, Elton John, Miyavi, Vivaldi, and just zone out. 

“Musume-sama,” Ueda gently touched her shoulder. 

Hisana yelped and flushed prettily when heads turned. “Sorry,” she yanked out her earbuds. “You startled me.”

“Forgive me,” Ueda bowed. “Your phone has been ringing for several minutes.”

“Oh,” she looked at the iPhone. “I didn’t hear it.”

Swiping right, she walked several feet forward. It was a number that she knew very well, by heart actually, but it had somehow been erased from her phone. Not that it mattered. She could yell at Akihito later, if the opportunity ever presented itself. Her heart beat rapidly as she answered, “Hello?”

“Hello, Beautiful,” Mahdi’s warm voice answered. 

“Sweetheart,” she whispered. “How are you? How have you been? Baby, I’ve been so worried about you.” Hisana glanced over her shoulder. The suits were following discreetly behind her, allowing her some privacy. She tried to school her face, but the way she bit her lip and smiled told all. It was Mahdi Al Madani at last.

“I’m fine. I’m healing up nicely, though my mother is smothering me. It’s you I want to know about.”

“I’m good. Walking again, and I’ve been grounded to Japan,” Hisana clutched the phone tightly. He sounded so close. When she closed her eyes, she could pretend that he was standing in front of her. “I miss you.”

“Beautiful, I miss you too.” Mahdi’s breath was heavy. “Just hearing your voice…”

“Me too, Baby,” she whispered back. For a moment, she forgot that there was an audience. Ueda and Nakano could probably speak English, and undoubtedly would report everything to her father. People rushing past her were curious about her hedonistic smile, her jubilant eyes. 

“They tell me that you were in the room when Nabek and the rest came for me,” he said slowly. It was not something that he wanted to talk about when time was so precious, but the dirty laundry had to be aired. 

“Yes,” gold eyes squeezed shut. They walked through the park, pausing to let Asimov and Ruger sniff around. Her puppies enjoyed the new scents more than anything else. The suits discouraged passersby from trying to pet the beautiful dogs. 

“I’m so sorry, Beautiful. If I could have stopped––”

“You couldn’t have done anything,” Hisana cut him off. 

“But I would have tried,” he said fiercely. 

Her chuckle was watery. “I know you would have. I tried to stop them.”

So he had been told. Mahdi could picture it perfectly: her defiant Asian beauty, eyes blazing as she shouted at his men. She was small but she was fierce, to quote Shakespeare. “Your dad offered to buy me from Abbas,” Mahdi sounded impressed. 

“Really?” she sniffed loudly. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Stay in Japan, Hisana. I’m going to come for you. Soon.”

“Baby, what––”

“Just listen to me. Abbas won’t let me leave Abu Dhabi for now. Like I said, my mother has been suffocating me, the entire family in truth. They’re afraid we’re going to elope to Europe. Just wait six months for me––long enough for them to get complacent, and I’ll come get you.”

She licked her lips. He was asking her to do the impossible. Fool her father, pretend nothing was wrong, wait. She hated waiting. But she had no choice. “Okay, Baby. I’ll be here.”

*

Akihito slowly stirred. His brain was a slushy mess, scrambled by a vigorous fucking. Oh fuck…he tried to roll over, but he couldn’t. Everything hurt. So much. He could not even shift his legs without causing his back to spasm. 

A hot, heavy, log of an arm fell across his hip. “Sleeping Beauty awakes,” Ryu’s hot lips pressed open mouth kisses on the pearly column of his neck. 

“Ugh,” he groaned. Akihito wasn’t sure if he could even open his eyes, he was so tired. Ryu had gotten his birthday wish: his titillating lover’s ass high up in the air. For hours on end. Poor Suoh actually had to take Hisana shopping because Ryu had been that insatiable. Akihito was not sure what had suffered more: his ass or Suoh’s masculinity. 

Asami chuckled. It had actually been a good birthday, and that was a rarity. “Wake up, my beautiful boy,” he leisurely nipped at Akihito’s collarbone. “Your master beckons.”

Akihito could barely muster up enough energy to slap Ryu’s hand away from his swelling erection. “Don’t touch me, you bastard,” he groaned lowly. He was going to need morphine if he ever wanted to walk again. 

“I can’t help it,” Asami tugged at his balls. “It’s been too long. I look at you, and I lose all ability to control myself.”

That was sweet and romantic, but the photographer really did not care. Maybe a massage could work out some of the soreness, enough to let him sit up. Akihito buried his head in his plush pillow, and clamped his eyes shut. No more fucking. No more talking. No more movement. Sleep and drugs, that was what he needed. 

“Besides,” that flat, febrile tongue lazily stroked Akihito’s ear. “It’s my birthday. I should get to have all the sex I want, when I want it.”

A good lover would acquiesce. But the photographer was confident that no normal person could rut as much as his Ryu. Besides, it was not the will that was missing. Though Akihito had been roughly mounted for hours, his poor penis milked until he came dry, lust still pooled in his gut. His legs shifted unconsciously, preparing for the onslaught. That caused his lower back to spasm. Akihito let out a choked gasped, curling defensively as he tried to stretch out his abused muscles. 

“Akihito?” Ryu was propped up on his arms. The fixer’s handsome face loomed over him, contorted with concern. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

“Sore,” he hissed through clenched teeth. His back pulsed, muscles constricting around his blood vessels, refusing to release. “Muscle spasm.”

Ryu’s wide hands gently probed his back. Akihito bucked into the volcanic heat. It felt so good that he sighed. Ryu softly pulled at the skin, stretching the muscles to ease the strain. Akihito pushed into his lover’s touch, appreciate the stretch. Ryu’s thick thumbs rubbed small circles in the arc of his back, pressing the knots out without digging. Akihito breaths came out in snorts, and he gasped his lover’s name when a particularly large knot loosened. “Ryu!”

“Just relax, kitten,” Asami’s brows furrowed in concentration. He pushed his boy into the bed, careful not to further hurt him. With a methodical tenderness he had not known he was capable of, Asami slowly massaged along the photographer’s spine. Previous massages were hard and intense, preceding the mind blowing sex. This one was meant to heal, so he took his time, and became reacquainted with every facet of Akihito’s back. 

“Oh Ryu,” Akihito groaned softly. “Feels so good.” Asami smirked. Only the best for his family. Akihito’s hips suddenly raised, pushing back into the fixer. His erection speared towards the bed, his body burning and his hips wide open. His rosy bud was swollen, almost raw but Asami could feel the heat from the boy’s core. “M’back’s better,” he rubbed Asami’s massive dick between his ass cheeks. “‘M ready, now.”

Without further ado, Asami shoved his instantly hard cock deep into his Akihito. The twenty-four year old threw his head back, eyes shut as he shouted in ecstasy. His knees stayed far apart as Asami thrust deep inside of him over and over and over again. Ryu’s chest pressed against his arched back, saline sweat slicking the two of them and binding them together. White teeth bit and pulled on the photographer’s ear, as the twenty-four year old stroked his own erection. 

“Love you–––ahh!! Ryu!!” Akihito called faintly. His muscles tensed again, his body stilled. The crime lord knew that he was on the precipice of his orgasm, trying to fight it off as long as possible. To make the fuck and his birthday wish last. Asami’s heart swelled full for the amazing creature beneath him who declared his ardor so candidly. “I love you, Ryu!” 

“Come for me, Akihito,” Asami commanded, his voice rough with emotion. He replaced Akihito’s hand with his own, grasping the quivering cock tighter and stroking it quicker. “ Come because I want you to, because I need you to. Come for me because I love you.”

The poor boy was still dry, but his world exploded as another la petite mort shot through his body. His entire being trembled as he choked sobs mixed with his cries of pleasure. Shaking arms gave out as his arms collapsed. The last thing Akihito felt before oblivion took him was Ryu’s hot spunk shooting deep inside of him, filling him with his lover’s essence. 

Asami wanted to collapse on Akihito, to pull the blond to him until their bodies melted away and their souls touched. But it would not do to crush to already strained youth. He forced himself away from Akihito, his softening cock sobbing as it was unsheathed. The boy was dead to the world, most likely for the rest of the day. Wetting a washrag, Asami cleaned up his spent lover and tucked the boy into the sheets. No more birthday sex for him, but it had most assuredly been worth the wait. 

After he showered, he sat in the living room to wait for Hisana to return. Though he trusted Suoh with his own life, Hisana and Akihito’s lives were much more valuable to him. He could not sleep until he knew that she was safely home. 

The door clicked open and he heard the dogs before he saw his daughter. Ruger yipped loudly as she ran in circles, looking for her water bowl. Asimov was a stealthy shade, slipping quietly around the penthouse until he found Asami. The pit bull tucked himself neatly at his master’s feet, rejuvenated by his walk. 

“Hello, Daddy,” Hisana smiled at him from the doorway. 

His princess held several shopping bags, and still walked confidently. The contentment in his heart expounded. All was right in the world. His family was home, safe and happy. His daughter smiled while his lover slept. They had survived another storm, and had come out stronger on the other side. Life was good for Asami Ryuichi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you all think? 
> 
> I am very pleased that we have made it this far. It has been a pleasure to write it, and to receive all of your wonderful, warm responses! I appreciate you more than you will ever know! You all are amazing, each and every one of you! Thank you for your support!
> 
> I have received several requests, several from one individual (Fanfic3112 I'm looking at you) to continue this story. I might one day, I even have an idea about what would happen. I have other projects that I would like to see through first. I do have one question: if there were to be a continuation, would you like it added on to this story like a second arc, or just have it be a separate story?
> 
> I love you all. Thanks again for the support, for your patience, and for your time. I hope you enjoyed it!


	13. What have I become

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next arc of the story is based of Johnny Cash's Hurt. I know it was originally performed by NIN, but I like Cash's version. I like everything Johnny Cash. He did a cover of You Are My Sunshine, too. How many people knew that lol? I would change the name of the story, but I'm afraid people would get confused haha. 
> 
> Thanks to Miyanoai for being an awesome beta. Her turnover is amazing, and she always sees things that I don't!

Chapter One: What Have I Become?

Living with two Asamis was worse than Akihito had ever imagined. They were an obstinate breed, nearly identical in personality and their violent tempers surged liked tsunamis. Usually Asami was in sync with Hisana, but when they clashed, heads rolled. The photographer felt like a piece of bait on the end of the hook, caught between the fish and the fisherman. Both sides pulled on him, and no matter what, he would be ripped apart. 

For the moment, life was calm. Hisana was released from physical therapy the week before, and though it was arduous, painstaking and prolonged, it was worth it. She was walking as if the accident had never happened, and in heels to boot. They had moved into a new penthouse on the river, because Hisana refused to return to the old condo. Akihito had been willing to give her his room (easily forgetting that it had always been hers), and bunk with Asami. Still immature, she refused to sleep in the same room where they had fucked, even if there was a new bed. 

Asami had not wanted to return to the condo either. Five months had passed, and he had yet to ferret out Matsuhara’s backer. The S.O.B. had not kept any record of his dealings, which was unusual for the meticulous man. Not only was it off the books, he must have had several untraceable cell phones that he used to communicate with the backer. Money had not exchanged hands, there were no banks trails or suspicious emails. 

His daughter had turned up no leads, either. She had been a student at Tokyo University and had stopped going to class in the middle of the semester. That had been two years ago. They discreetly inquired about her, but her professors and the administration knew nothing. Her friends admitted that she had met a man at bar, and they were casually seeing each other. His name had been Chouj. Asami suspected that the man used an alias, and most likely worked for Matsuhara’s backer. They took the daughter to ensure Matsuhara’s cooperation, though that would not have been necessary. The bartenders did not remember the girl at all. Nor had any police report been filed. 

She was just gone. 

December 1st came to Tokyo quietly. The cold came in mid-November, burying into the cracks of homes, through the window panes, and under doors. His breath fogged in front as Akihito walked, hands shoved in his pockets. It was Hisana’s birthday soon, and he had hunted high and low for the perfect gift. Unsurprisingly, the girl who wanted for nothing was hard to shop for. The only present he could think of was getting something for the dogs, who she loved like they were her children. 

She kept looking at YouTube videos of a corgi running on a giant hamster wheel and giggling. Some brainiac thought it was a good idea to make exercise wheels for dogs who were cooped up inside, and he knew that Hisana thought it was a good idea. The dogs walked to class with her sometimes, and the guards frequently took them out. Dog parks were few and far between in the urban city, so he knew that she would appreciate the wheel. Now all he had to do was pay for it, and they were ridiculously expensive. 

Luckily, his editor had called with a job. Hitachori Naoyuki was a smarmy politician who had a thing for underage girls. Ironically, he was the same politician that Akihito was supposed to snag on the day of his attempted kidnapping six months ago. Mitarai had not been able to get the job done, so the bastard escaped justice and kept fucking fifteen year olds. Akihito was going to get him off the streets, and make a few yen in the process. It was a win-win. 

Pulling his hood down so that the club bouncer could get a good look at his face, Akihito handed the guy his fake license. Thankfully, he looked enough like Takato to pass at the IT tech. The wall of muscle ushered him inside as he returned his license. Akihito quickly ducked into the throbbing heat, letting the bouncer frisk the next person in line. Shoving Takato’s license in his pocket, Aki zipped up his jacket despite the heat and switched the spy camera in his glasses on. A video recording was even better than a few grainy pictures.

He tried to look confident as he walked over to the bar. It was the perfect place for a stakeout. He could pretend to drink while he waited. It would let him observe everyone at the club while looking inconspicuous. Hitachori would not arrive for a few hours. Akihito only knew that he was coming because Club Devisee was a low-end knock of Sion. The poor man’s black market happened in its basement, and nothing was too depraved. 

The lower levels were reserved for premium members, who paid a large sum of money. Anything could happen in the lower levels of Devisee, as well as the surrounding clubs that were rumored to link together by a series of tunnels. Hitachori was actually tame compared to some of the other patrons. Looking around, Akihito was sick to his stomach. His glasses recorded everything. He had come for one man and a dog wheel, but when he left, he would cripple the sex trade if he could get to the basement. 

That presented the challenge. 

“Come with me,” a deep voice said from beside him. 

The reporter startled and whipped around. It was a club bouncer. The tall muscled man in a black shirt that was too tight; he could see the outline of the guy’s nipples. The man glowered down at him, his bulging biceps twitching as he waited to see if Akihito was going to run or not. “What do you want?” the blond tried to sound confident. That was the key. If he sounded like he was supposed to be there, then people wouldn’t question him. No one wanted to look stupid by asking dumb questions. He had learned that off Tumblr. 

“The owner wants a word,” the bouncer replied. 

Dread rolled like a lead ball in his gut. How had they figured him out? He hadn’t gone overboard with the disguise, and he used a valid license. He looked a lot like Takato. Even a background check would have said that yes, Ito Takato was a real person. It would pull up Rinka, but this was Japan. It wasn’t like he was the first married guy to be secretly gay. It shouldn’t raise too much suspicion! Not that he was Takato––that Takato was gay––that––that…Okay, he was getting too deep into his character. He couldn't confuse the real Takato with him pretending to be Takato. That would only cause trouble down the road. 

Or maybe…he was attractive, Akihito was vain enough to admit that he was good looking. This owner would not be the first to call him up to his office for a quickie. Hell, that was a roundabout description of how he got together with Asami in the beginning of the relationship. That would be better. He could pretend to put out until Asami could come save him or he could escape. Yeah, the fixer would be super pissed that Akihito had lost his guards and wandered into the lion’s den, but eventually he would understand. It was his daughter’s birthday, and she was hard to shop for!

Every thought flickered across the photographer’s face as he debated internally. The bouncer soon became uncomfortable, watching his face scrunch up and relax as he thought through all the possibilities. Eventually, Akihito realized what he was doing and flushed. “Hehe, oops,” he grunted. 

The muscled guy rolled up his eyes. “Get up,” he grabbed the boy’s arm. “You don’t want to keep Sakazaki waiting.”

Sakazaki! “Oh fuck no!” Akihito tried to wrench his arm free but the bouncer’s grip was like steel. “Hey man, let me go!” he struggled. “I don’t wanna go! Lemme go!”

The bouncer totally disregarded Akihito’s wishes and drug him up some rickety stairs behind the stage. “Here he is,” the guy tossed Akihito into an office. It was full of leather couches, lots of booze, and a plasma screen. It felt more like a sleazy lounge than a place of business. 

Sakazaki sat in the middle of a couch, his arm slung over the back. His beady eyes raked up and down Akihito’s body, undressing him in front of the bouncer. “That will be all,” he waved his man away. “Good evening, Akihito.” 

The photographer felt vulnerable, as exposed as if he was naked while the smalltime yakuza peered at him like a predator before its meal. He flashed back to over a year ago, when he traded his body for the information that he thought would save Asami’s life. Sakazaki had played Akihito like a fiddle, and by the looks of it, was going to do it again. “Asami knows where I am,” the photographer said before he had even thought about it. 

Sakazaki ignored him entirely. “I’d ask you to sit, but we both remember how our last meeting went. I don’t want to get you on your back too quickly.” 

Akihito walked backwards until his back pressed against the door. “I’m not going to fall for your tricks again.”

“No tricks, kid,” Sakazaki pushed himself up. Walking over to the far side of the bar, he grabbed two glasses. Pouring copious amounts of caramel liquor into them, he continued on, “I’m not looking for a repeat of last time.”

“Good,” Akihito clutched his jacket tightly. His hand was pinned behind his back, but it palmed for the doorknob. The second he found it, he was bolting out the front doors. 

“I’m surprised that Asami let you come into my club after last year,” the yakuza returned to the couch. He drank from one glass, and left the other on the table. “Drink,” he nodded to the booze. 

Akihito quickly shook his head, “No thanks.”

“Hmm,” Sakazaki swirled his brandy. “Asami doesn’t know you’re here, does he? Especially after that terrible business a few months ago.”

Akihito stopped moving. He felt the heat in his cheeks rise as anger bloomed in his blood. There was no way Sakazaki knew about Hisana. They had been too careful. No, the slimy git was fishing for information, and Akihito would be damned if he was played again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with surprising force. He sounded convincing, even to his own ears. 

Sakazaki did not appear convinced, but he went along with the conversation for some unknown reason. “Maybe you don’t. Well, that would be even worse for you, now wouldn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” the photographer glowered at Asami’s enemy and his molester. “I’m not listening to a word you’re saying. You are gonna try to get in my head, make me think things that aren’t real. And yes, Asami does know I’m here.” That was a total lie, but Aki did not credit Sakazaki with an abundance of brains. The fool might believe him. 

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you aren’t the only piece of ass he’s tapping,” the greasy haired man stood up again. His shirt had mysteriously fallen open, as it was prone to do, and it now revealed his muscular but hairy chest. “Back in the summer, rumor has it that some girl of his was taken. And we both know that couldn’t be you.”

He loomed over the boy, his hip pressing into Akihito’s abdomen. The photographer’s back was pressed flat against the door, crushing his back against his hand, pinning it. “You’ve still got this, don’t you?” Sakazaki roughly rubbed the front of Akihito’s jeans. “You are still Asami’s kitten, aren’t you pretty thing?”

“Get off me!” Akihito used all of his strength to push the yakuza away. He glared daggers at the laughing man who danced back, not because of Akihito’s shove but because he wanted to toy with his dinner before he ate it. “I was there this summer. Nothing happened.”

“Don’t lie to me, Akihito,” Sakazaki shook his head, sneering malignantly. “We both know that Asami killed a hundred people in one night because something was taken. And he would not gut Matsuhara Saburo’s entire staff over nothing.”

Akihito swallowed dryly, but kept his chin held high. Sakazaki kept throwing out scenarios and reading Akihito’s expressions. He was counting on the photographer to let something slip if he guessed close to the truth. “It was because of me.”

“I thought so, at first,” Sakazaki walked towards the photographer. Akihito’s hand finally managed to grip the doorknob. One twist and he was home free. “Then rumors of a child started to crawl in the streets, passing between the whores. Whores and druggies always know everything.”

“Kid?” Akihito’s voice was hoarse. “Asami hates kids.”

“Not according to Kawaguchi Akina. He remembers Asami doting on the girl.”

Kawaguchi. The lose end had come around to bite them in the ass. Of course he would tell. He owed Asami doubly after the night at the prison. Selling that information to Asami’s enemies was a step towards retribution. How many other people knew? 

Sakazaki opened his mouth to say something else, but the investigative photographer could not risk lingering in the same room as the man. Sooner or later, he would try to get Aki’s pants off. Just because Asami did not know about a year ago did not mean that Akihito wanted to repeat the experience. In fact, if he never saw Sakazaki again, it would be too soon. 

With a quick twist of his wrist, the door flew open. The twenty-four year old was out the door and running down the stairs as quickly as he could. No one pursued him, nor did Sakazaki cry out. Still, Akihito shoved his way past seedy men and scantily dressed women, barely registering their shouts as he pushed to the door. Stumbling into the dark night, he did not look over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. 

He ran to Sion and Asami as quickly as he could. Just like Sakazaki wanted him to. Let Asami suffocate on the impending doom. Sooner or later, the attack would come. And it would shake his empire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you all enjoyed it. I want to thank everyone who supported the first arc of this story: Kulotte, Nikkie23534, Sarv, SageSapis, Shane, xDarklightx, finderlov, Capricorn898, dragonfairy16, dark blue princess, fanfic3112, itachisgurl193, Mika Sun802, FireFox Vixen, MaximunXXcorruption, Chaozsama, Xxsakurachan97, rion-rion, Kunoichi of the Moonlit Night, The Yaoi Pimpette, Richou, Suspicious Crow, Belle'Masque, ChaosCrusader, vanillamyeolchi, steph89, TheRagnaBuck, reni86, aishy, Christabel_Rose, Ayaomi, backtofive, WhiteWinds, eelynn, MixBerkaan, JumpingRainbow, Chestnutcrown, Kathimus, alexa87, vidoxd, Zabirel, Olja, Ayusixth, Shay7767, KariNeko282, Bumblebee_01, candytt, Uma, segna77, logfile, Xarimaki, May_Colfer, PrussiaMafia, Serpentariuss, ggeejj, Mayu41, akishima_naruren, Setsuna24, Nylia, Galaxiel_AXA, bone38, Lanyre, hikaru_itsuko, Miyanoai, blueutopiah, alphadick, Santuv592, Darkyoaifox, randomname98, Emma_Harris, MayAvalon, blackrosewitch1996, sexyfantasy, Sanela, Sara_matta, serenyty82, vivist70, Ryukei, Ashida, Sarin888, Mukiiami, Kimmyko97, stayinmydreams13 (darkreverie13), Tatsumaa (Elicia_chan), Yaoifav456, spoiled_fashionista, Amelita, moonshadow4, maeylee, HamanoEmichan, Suzaku24, existinnon, jonna594, wi2n3lyana, kitty9852, Rekishichizu, Miss_Bunny7, elly96, BlackHound14, ff_f4ng, BitterRose95, cavanacgh, mumbled_talks, naomizuki, Aveira, lovefinder, lola1201, Lazenshia, mssh, StarXNite, ninjahikari, Jambee, as well as 44 guests (both AO3 and FF.net)! 
> 
> It might a little bit before the next up date. The muse is with me on this story but I feel like I should up date HB and AIP first haha.


	14. My Sweetest Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad that everyone buckled their seatbelts for the bumpy ride. It's gonna get a little crazy up in here, but it wouldn't be Viewfinder if it was rainbows and sunshine. 
> 
> Thank you Miyanoai for being my beta. 
> 
> And has everyone seen the teaser for the Deadpool movie? I'm squealing my head off, over here. He's my favorite (hero, superhero, anti-hero, villain: you name it!) His movie is going to be amazing, and I think Ryan Reynolds is going to do him justice. The writing/dialogue certainly seems that way.

Chapter Two: My Sweetest Friend/p>

“You went where?” Asami Ryuichi’s voice was death as he stared at the panting photographer. He had been in the middle of a very important phone call with a Saudi oil tycoon when his lover barged in, waving his hands. Kirishima knew to let him in immediately. It was rare for Akihito to visit him under the best of circumstances. To see him so pale, gasping for breath and not remotely perturbed that Asami was threatening to emasculate someone, had the fixer quickly ending his call. 

Akihito waved his hands. “Yeah, I didn’t know it was Sakazaki’s club. But that isn’t the point. He knows about Hisana.”

Kirishima opened the door to let Suoh in so that the Chief Security Officer could hear the bad news. Asami’s eyebrows nearly merged with his widow’s peak. “That’s impossible.”

“No,” Akihito’s chest was heaving. He was in shape, but man it was a long run from Devisee to Sion. He licked his lips, looking for any moisture that he could find. “Kawaguchi…he told him.”

Asami looked at Kirishima. “I thought I told you to eliminate him,” he eyed his employee. 

Kirishima pushed his glasses further up onto his nose with his third finger. “We dealt with him two months ago during a prison riot. He was killed along with four other inmates, including Matsumoto Rai.”

Akihito remembered the riots. They were a bloody mess. Five inmates died, another eleven were injured as were two guards and one visitor. The media attributed it to gang violence. Matsumoto Rai was part of an Okinawa syndicate, but he had turned state’s evidence in exchange for life in prison. It was unsurprising that his own gang had murdered him. He was responsible for several of them losing their lives and others being arrested. 

Asami nodded, pleased. Kirishima continued speaking, “I did not anticipate him selling information to Sakazaki or others. Else wise, we would have ended him earlier.”

“Our trip to the prison was not covert,” Suoh interjected. He did not want his friend to be punished for not being able to anticipate every enemy’s move. Further, they all were to blame for their carelessness that night. It was one where delicacy was a liability that they did not have time for. “He could have made a few inquiries and found out that we interrogated Kawaguchi.”

“I agree,” Asami knew that he was just as culpable as his men. He had been inconsolable in his apoplectic rage, and cared for nothing but finding Hisana. “It is likely that Sakazaki approached Kawaguchi, not the other way around.”

Kirishima nodded his head, accepting Asami’s judgment. 

Golden eyes narrowed. “Find her, and have her brought back to the penthouse,” he ordered his best men. 

They both bowed, realizing that they had been dismissed. Suoh was pulling his phone up to his ear as he left the room while Kirishima shut the door. Akihito shifted uncomfortably, only now noticing the tension that radiated off of Asami. The crime lord’s glare was molten lava, burning holes in his clothing. Kirishima and Suoh must have realized that Asami was upset. It explained why they were so quick to escape his office. “Did he touch you?” Asami’s baritone voice was a hair’s breadth above a whisper.

Oops. Akihito had not even thought about Asami’s reaction to the pervert trying to grope him. Akihito did not like to be molested, but it so wasn’t the issue. “Just to make a point,” he tried to play it off like it was no big deal. “He was more interested in what I knew about your kid.”

“What did he do?” Asami stood up behind his desk.

“He touched me and offered me a drink,” the photographer gulped. He really was thirsty, though. “I don’t suppose you have one, though? I told him no.”

“A wise move,” Asami’s office had a water cooler. Not high tech or unusual, but the fixer kept it stocked with some ritzy water from Fiji. It was super expensive, and Akihito swore it tasted like all other water. He accepted the proffered glass, gulping down the water like it was fine wine. Then and there, it tasted like Olympian ambrosia, or better yet, like it was worth every single yen Asami spent on it. “Where?”

“Huh?” the photographer wiped his mouth. Turning his back on his lover, he refilled his glass. Damn, he must be dehydrated or something. He usually didn’t need to chug water like that. Maybe it was the nerves. He still needed to tell Asami his theory that Sakazaki was Matsuhara’s secret financier. 

Bad idea to give his back to Asami. Strong hands grabbed his shoulders, flipping his around. The crispy water arched in a glistering wave, drenching the floor and both men. Akihito yelped, but his lover did not notice. Briefly, Akihito wished he could keep his composure the way that Asami did, but when he looked into the man’s eyes, all thoughts of coolness left his head. Asami looked like he was ready to rip someone’s arms off. Considering how it was Akihito that he was holding, it was precarious situation for the photographer. “Ryu, what––“ 

“Where did he touch you?”

He managed to put the glass on something nearby without getting too far out of the fixer’s hold. Akihito touched Asami’s jaw tenderly, eyes scrunching. “It wasn’t sexual,” he promised his lover. “He was taunting me. That’s all.”

Asami knew his little lover very well. The fact that Akihito was dancing around the question let him know that he wasn’t going to like the answer. Hands slamming against the wall, he refused to let the boy calm him down with tender touches. “Where, Akihito? Don’t make me ask again,” he snarled. 

Akihito sighed. Grabbing Asami’s hand, he pulled it down to his inseam. “Here,” he thrust Asami’s hand between his legs. Instinctively, Asami cupped his hand, grasping Akihito’s pants and dick in one motion. “He asked me if I was still a man, or if I was the girl that you slaughtered a hundred people for.” 

The photographer looked away from his lover, embarrassed. Sakazaki kept getting one up on him, always causing tension between him and Asami. He was trying to get into Akihito’s head, fuck everything up and more importantly, use him to ruin Asami. That was why Aki did not want to tell his lover exactly what happened with the yakuza: Asami would want revenge and might get reckless when he became carried away. 

Asami stiffened. The blood left his face as his eyes turned red. “Are you all right?” Asami’s voice was gentle despite the anger that syncopated his heart beat. It was more important to make sure that Akihito was not hurt. He could kill Sakazaki once his lover went to sleep. “Did he hurt you?”

Akihito sighed gratefully. He dropped his head onto the fixer’s chest, slowly breathing in and out as he tried to calm himself. He expected his lover to lose his temper: shout, throw things, and rattle Akihito’s bones. Asami had slowly been mellowing out over the summer. The assurance of Akihito’s love was enough to tame the savage crime lord, but old habits die hard. The man had slipped into his old ways when provoked, and no one seemed to get under his skin like Sakazaki. “I’m fine, Ryu. I promise.”

Asami titled his chin up. Gold eyes shined as he gently pressed his lips to Akihito’s. “Good,” he murmured, their lips still together. “You know how I worry.”

Worry. Akihito was worried. Gripping his lover’s wrists, he pulled Asami’s hands away from him before he could get swept up in emotion. “I have a theory,” he said. “I think Sakazaki was Matsuhara’s backer.”

“What makes you say that?” Asami’s eyebrows furrowed. His body was flush against Akihito’s, pinning the boy to the wall. When it was Asami, Aki did not mind being immobile. “He knew nothing of Hisana before Kawaguchi.”

“Yeah but Matsuhara did,” pointed out the photographer. “All they had to do was meet at an ‘I Hate Asami Ryuichi Convention’ and the rest would be history. He might even be lying about Kawaguchi to cover his tracks.”

Asami ruminated for a brief moment. There were no such gathering as far as he knew, but it was well known that he hated Sakazaki. If Matsuhara wanted to get his revenge badly enough, he might have been willing to contact the scumbag. Sakazaki did not come cheap, and he had the balls to look overseas for hitmen. Akihito’s theory was cogent, and Asami was slightly embarrassed that he had not thought of it earlier. They had clandestinely investigated some of his more influential enemies, especially ones with known ties to the west. Sakazaki had never left the country, nor did he do business with many foreigners. If he had wanted the element of surprise to make his move, he had chosen his moment well. 

“I’ll have Kirishima look into it,” Asami pushed himself off the wall. He was back in business mode, straightening his impeccable suit jacket and running his fingers through his coiffed hair. This may have been the break that they were looking for. Pulling his cell from his pocket, he sent a quick message to his CFO. 

Akihito followed his lover to his desk. “How much longer do you have?” It was a Friday night, and he had no plans. Not since his investigation was ruined. 

Asami did not immediately sit back in his office chair, preferring to stand next to his lover. They both knew that Friday nights were reserved for ‘off the books’ business, of which Akihito usually shied away from. “A few more hours, at least. I need to call Tahan back and threaten to shove his balls down his son’s throat. Among other things.”

Akihito flushed, suddenly a little light headed. “Among other things?” he said faintly. 

The corners of Asami’s mouth quirked up. “Yes. Other things.” Pressing a kiss to the twenty-four year old’s forehead, Asami brushed a straying wisp of blonde away from the boy’s face. “Go home to Hisana. I’ll see you in a little while.”

“Please be safe,” the photographer gave his lover one last kiss. “I’ll wait up for you.”

“Always,” Asami put his hands into his suit pockets. There were more pressing matters than getting his photographer undressed. Every instinct in his body chaffed as the boy walked towards the elevator. His blood thrummed at the thought of marking Akihito, erasing every touch and memory of Sakazaki. Asami knew that the photographer had chosen him, and would always choose him, but the thought of another man even looking at Akihito sent him into a rabid fury. He itched to rip Akihito’s clothes off and fuck him hard against the elevator wall. He would, and soon, Asami promised himself. 

There was one little bit of business that he needed to attend to before he could go home for the weekend. Akihito insisted that Asami be home for most of the weekend. It gave them a semblance of normalcy, as if they were a typical blended family. A family life was important to the young man, so Asami did as he was bid, and carved out most of the two days for his family. If only his child wasn’t there. Then he could have Akihito naked for two full days a week. 

As the elevators doors slid shut, Asami’s cool facade cracked. Kirishima stood at attention, ready for the fixer’s orders. He had briefly wondered why Asami claimed to have business to finish rather than go with the blond. Tahan Hassim had been the last item on the itinerary before the weekend. “Get the car,” Asami’s gold eyes were gelid. “We’re paying Sakazaki a visit.”

*

“Okay, so I get why I was manhandled back home at ten o’clock at night,” began Hisana. She lay on her back, head draped over the arm of the couch. She tossed a tennis ball into the air and caught it as she spoke. “And I get why you’re a little freaked out.”

Akihito snorted. Freaked out was putting it gently. He had known that the danger was not gone, not that it ever really was. But out of sight, out of mind, and he had forgotten how terrifying it was to wait for the next attack. At least they had gotten some warning rather than getting swept away in a sudden shit storm like last time. Now they could prepare for the onslaught. 

“What I don’t get is why I just got an email saying that my plane ticket to Barcelona has been refunded.”

“Hmm?” He had no clue what she was talking about. 

“You know how I was supposed to visit Charlisa over winter break?” It was Asami’s birthday present to Hisana and Christmas present to Akihito. Let the girl visit with her friends and have some modicum of freedom, while Akihito could walk around butt naked for two weeks. Living as a family meant there was some lifestyle compromises, and neither had realized how stifling it could be. Usually the compromises were worth it, but Akihito did hate having to pull rough cotton over his raw ass after Asami plowed it for hours on end. 

“Yup,” he was looking forward to the trip. 

“My plane tickets were just refunded to my account,” Hisana pointed to her phone which sat on the coffee table. 

“Your dad must have had Kirishima cancel the flight,” Akihito bit his lip. He had been sitting at the end of the sofa, with her legs thrown over his lap. Standing up, he went to grab a beer from the fridge. Asami must have been taking his story seriously if he was canceling a trip that wasn’t scheduled until after Christmas. 

“But why?” Hisana whined when she was displaced. She dropped several inches off the sofa, her head nearly touching the floor. Akihito glanced behind him. All he could see was her long hair spilling onto the floor. It looked kinda like the grudge was laying in wait for him, and he so didn’t want to go back into the living room. “I mean, it’s three weeks away. We’ll have this business wrapped up long before Christmas.”

“Do you really think so?” he popped open the imported beer. They had to get a bottle opener because, like father like daughter, both Asamis preferred a bottle to a can. “It’s been months and Ryu hasn’t managed to get a tangible lead.”

“Grab me one too!” Hisana called when she heard the beer fizzing. “And what are you talking about? He got one tonight!”

Akihito kicked the fridge shut, “We’ll have to see if it works out. Here.” 

Hisana grunted as she pulled herself upright. “Thanks,” she took a quick swig of the dark beer. “It’s going to. Dad hasn’t made it home yet.”

Akihito glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. “You noticed too?”

She nodded. Grabbing a game controller, she flipped through the game settings while Akihito untangled his cord. “I’m betting he went to have a chat with Sakazaki.”

“That one,” Akihito nodded to the desert scene. “He said that he needed to call a man named Tahan.” 

“The oil guy?” 

Akihito shrugged. His dexterous fingers danced over the game controller like Kirishima’s on a keyboard. Yoshi’s tongue shot out, making Link stumble backwards. “I guess. I don’t keep track of these people like you do.”

“I don’t know why you don’t,” Hisana pouted as Samus flew off the edge of the screen, surrounded by a softly glowing ball. “It’s kind of your job.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble for Ryu,” Akihito admitted. Samus charged Yoshi head-on, and he had to fight to keep her at bay. “Plus, the papers don’t pay much for that kind of story. They’re much more interested in local smut.”

“Like Hitachori Naoyuki?” 

Akihito nodded absentmindedly. “Exactly,” he said as Captain Falcon blasted Yoshi. The little green dinosaur cried out as he flew off the platform, flailing as he fell into the bottomless pit off screen. 

“Sorry that you didn’t get your story,” Hisana shot at Captain Falcon and Link, who tried to gang up on Samus. “I know you like to work.”

He did enjoy maintaining his independence, even if it was only in his mind. Plus, he had birthday and Christmas presents to buy. Why did he fall in love with a ridiculous rich bastard and the bastard’s daughter, who was ironically a genuine bastard. “I’ll get a new scoop on Monday.” If Asami could not work on the weekends, neither could Akihito. Rules were rules. 

“I’ll sleep with him,” Hisana offered nonplussed. “We can set him up that way.”

The screen went black, thankfully, because Akihito’s brain shut down. “What? No way!” His mouth dropped open as the controller slipped through his fingers. “You can’t be serious. He’s got to be forty years older than you!” 

“So?” the girl shrugged insouciantly. “I’m sure I’ve done worse––“

Akihito threw his hand in front of her face. “I don’t want to know. Oh God, I can’t know!” He drug his hands down his face, pulling his lower lip down to his chin. Fuck, he was going to be sick. Hisana wasn’t supposed to be having sex with anyone after Mahdi, especially not some epicurean sexagenarian. Even if it wasn’t gross, Asami would forbid it if he found out. He didn’t like another guy looking at Akihito, so the photographer could only guess how terrible it would be if someone hit on his precious daughter. “Besides, Ryu would kill me.”

“You? Never,” was her blasé reply. “Hitachori most definitely."

Akihito was firmly against the death penalty, regardless of the scenario. All human life was priceless in his eyes, and worth protecting. No matter what. “He needs to have his nuts cut off,” the photographer amended. 

Hisana shrugged. She could live with that. 

“So…how was your date?” he had been dying to know. She had met some boy at a meet-and-greet for Keio University. She still argued with Ryu about Oxford, and it seemed that the crime lord was relenting. That was why she was visiting Charlisa at the end of the month, to see if she could handle herself out of the country. Now that the trip had suddenly been canceled, it was good that she had looked at the school just to pacify her father. If Akihito had not known better, he would have thought that Asami arranged the entire thing. 

“You mean, the hour that I was there?” Hisana furled her lips. “Fine. The lobster was excellent.”

Of course it was. The kid was from old money, like a super old family and all that jazz. They owned a dozen casinos spread across Asia. They had been out a few times, but Aki got the distinct impression that the family did not approve of Hisana. Though Asami was her public last name, no one had publicly connected her to Asami Ryuichi, and Asami paid a pretty penny to keep it that way. They probably thought she was a gold digger trying to get her claws into the family heir early. 

“Did he seem upset that Ueda whisked you away so quickly?” Akihito tried to sound like a sympathetic friend and not a nosy parent. Leave that to Ryu. 

Hisana shrugged. The new game started. Now Akihito played as Kirby. Hisana refused to give up dibs on Samus. “He’s got suits following him around. Shichirou understands.”

“Shichirou?” Akihito wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “You’re on a first name basis already?”

“Pff, please,” Hisana rolled her eyes as Samus sucker punched Mario. “This is modern Japan, and we’re young. No one from our generation uses last names. It’s so antiquated and you know I don’t do old.”

“Unless it’s Hitachori,” Akihito could not resist the taunt. 

Hisana spit out her beer. “Eww!” she squealed and rapidly stomped her feet. 

Aki joined in, laughing until it hurt to breathe. “So…sorr…sorryyyyyyy!” he nudged her shoulder playfully. The girl was laughing and shuddering and completely disgusted at the thought of touching some old dude’s dick. So much for her cool bravado earlier. “I couuullllld…n’t hellllllp iiittt!”

“I mean,” Hisana’s chest heaved as she gasped for air, breathing in loudly through her nose. “I know I said I would, buuttt…” the girl shuddered dramatically. “Bleh!” she stuck out her tongue like she was gagging. Obviously, the offer was recanted and Akihito was slightly proud that he was able to make her rethink bad decisions covertly. 

Levity quickly fading, Akihito really looked at Hisana. She seemed happy, her eyes glittering and her smile genuine. She and Kou were still hanging out, though even Kou was speaking in terms of friendship and not omias. Still, he had to ask. “Hisana, have you heard fro––“

“No,” the teen cut him off. Her gaze was as murderous as her father’s. “We don’t talk about him.” Five months with no contact made Mahdi Al Madani a touchy subject. Nursing a broken heart was a lengthy process, one that the photographer understood easily. 

“Okay,” Akihito did not press her. She would come to him when she was ready to talk. “Tell me about Kihara Shichirou.”

*

His family was fast asleep by the time that Asami walked back into his home. Dawn was almost rising in the east, and he was more tired that his machismo would let him admit. The hunt for Sakazaki had taken most of the night. The man had fled Club Devisee by the time Asami had arrived. It was obvious that he expected Akihito to go running to the fixer, and for Asami to respond immediately. They searched in all the obviously places for the man, but when nothing turned up, Asami decided to call it a night. Not because he was giving up on the hunt, but because he was suspicious of the cacafuego. It seemed like he was leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for Asami to follow, and the last thing the fixer would do was be played. Kirishima was investigating the man more thoroughly over the weekend, and they would resume the chase on Monday. 

“You’re home,” was what he assumed Akihito murmured as Asami slipped into the bed beside him. 

“I told you I would be home soon,” Asami pressed a light kiss into his boy’s hair after the blond sluggishly rolled into his arms. 

Akihito mumbled some incoherent response, before falling right back asleep. Asami knew that the journalist would not remember the stinted conversation in the morning. Arms snuggly wrapped around Akihito, the fixer quickly fell into a deep sleep. The last thing he thought was that there was light at the end of the tunnel. He was close to finding Matsuhara’s backer, and permanently eradicating the threat. 

*

“You look good enough to eat,” Akihito leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Asami was straightening his bowtie in the bathroom mirror. “No one will be able to keep their hands off you.”

“Jealous, kitten?” Asami smirked. “That’s usually my line.”

The photographer rolled his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head. I’m not happy that you’re going out on a Saturday night. That’s all.”

“I would take you and Hisana if it was safe,” the fixer stopped combing his hair to look at his boy. “You know that.”

Akihito shrugged. Asami had presented him with a new suit, clean and pressed, the week before. He would have gone as Hisana’s date, and had to watch socialites fawn over his supposedly unattached lover. The thrill of seducing Asami all night without speaking to him, of looking at everyone but his lover, of pretending he was the elite like Asami, made his blood burn. Hisana would slip off with Kihara and Akihito would suddenly be tossed in the back of the limo, Asami stripping him with practiced efficiency. It would have been a good night. “I know,” Akihito replied. 

“I’ll be home before one,” Asami buttoned his cufflinks as he walked out of their bedroom. 

“So early?” Hisana asked dubiously. His daughter was displeased by the sudden lockdown. She was just getting used to her restored freedom, and like any unpragmatic adolescent, did not believe that the danger could touch her. 

“These galas are full of people who like to hear themselves talk, nothing more. I’ll be bored to tears by midnight,” Asami answered. “Have a good night with your mother.”

“Stop that!” Akihito bristled. 

Hisana giggled. “You too, Daddy. We’ll try not to make mess.”

Asami hummed as he walked to the front door. “Is Kou coming over?” The mess grew exponentially when the brunette meandered in. Being friends with both Akihito and Hisana gave the tech analyst the idea that he was welcome anytime he pleased. If he didn’t make his family so happy, Asami would have broken his legs long ago. At least the little shit head stopped hitting on Hisana. Friendship or not, Asami would have stepped in then. 

“Not tonight,” Akihito followed his love. “He’s got a date.”

Good. Let him try to get between someone else’s legs. Little shit.

Akihito rolled his eyes. He knew exactly what Asami was thinking. “I’ll be waiting up for you,” he pressed a kiss to the man’s lips. “Be safe.”

“Always,” Asami pulled the grinning boy close. “Stay inside tonight.”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” Akihito glanced over his shoulder. His arms were still wrapped around Asami’s waist, their pelvises pressed tightly together. He groaned, low in his throat. It felt so damn good. “I’ll keep an eye on her tonight.”

“Thank you,” the fixer drawled. His little lover had no idea that Hisana had made the same vow about an hour earlier. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” Akihito called as the front door closed. Locking it, he tottered back into the kitchen. “You want pizza for dinner?”   
Gold eyes glinted. “I had a better idea,” she smiled devilishly. 

*   
Asami was bored out of his mind. He had only gone to the party for one reason, and so far, that reason had yet to arrive. Until then, he was stuck faking pleasantries and glaring at anyone who talked too much. Camera lights flashed. Socialites swirled in their couture gowns, dancing with any man that they wished to. Laughter echoed boisterously in the ballroom, and the violinist was off pitch. It was so trite that Asami didn’t bother to talk to anyone unless he had to. He was above all of this, and Japan knew it. 

“ETA on Kihara Shichirou?” he asked his secretary for the third time. 

Kirishima raised his eyebrows, but answered regardless. “Fifteen minutes. He is arriving with his mother, Kihara Naomi. His father was too ill to attend tonight.”

Kihara Sasakibe had stage three colon cancer. He ran the family businesses from home on his good days, and let his wife manage them on bad ones. Rumor had it that the son was a bit of a goodhearted idiot, who talked more with his dick than his mouth. Asami didn’t like him already. 

“Have someone grab him the moment he walks in here,” Asami ordered. 

Kirishima nodded, and pretended his boss hadn’t said that twice already. “Of course, Asami-sama.”

*

“This is ridiculous,” Akihito rolled up the sleeves on his silk shirt. “We look ridiculous.”

“Fix your tie,” Hisana ordered. “And we do not. We look fabulous.”

Akihito looked down at his fatuously expensive suit. The same suit that he was supposed to wear out. “We’re having a candlelit dinner in the middle of our kitchen, in formalwear,” Akihito reminded her. “How is this not ridiculous?”

Hisana crossed her arms. “I have a really pretty dress, and nowhere to wear it. So shut up, and play dress up with me.”

She did look stunning in her silver dress. It was cut high, but had a plunging back. The teen insisted that they doll up right. She made Akihito shower, and fix his hair before putting on his suit. In turn, her stick-straight hair was curled and tossed over one shoulder. He would go along with the dinner, just to make her happy. Akihito swore to himself that he did not enjoy dressing up at all. 

“This is the stupidest thing I have ever done,” he declared just to be contrary. 

Hisana smirked. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

*

“That’s him,” Kirishima whispered into Asami’s ear. 

The fixer turned away from Takeda Hoshida, who had made his millions from diamond mines, just in time to see a handsome boy walk into the ballroom, a much older woman on his arm. Kihara and his mother. The boy was Hisana’s age, and dressed in a crisp gray suit. His hair was slicked back, giving him the look of a movie star, and not the heir to an East Asian casino monopoly. 

“Grab him,” Asami ordered. He accepted a flute of champaign from a waiter. “I don’t care if you’re discreet.”

Kirishima would be discreet. It was in his nature. But he would move quicker if he felt he had some freedom. Asami would kill the mother if necessary. 

The champagne was cool as he sipped from his glass. Takeda’s lips pursed, but he nodded in understanding. The rumors of a girl––Asami’s new pet, perhaps––had swept across Japan. The miner undoubtedly believed Asami’s response to the fop was because of her. “You will have to excuse me for a moment,” Asami said to the man. 

“Of course, Asami-sa-–“ Takeda stopped talking as the glass flute slipped through the fixer’s fingers. It shattered loudly on the floor, exploding into ebullient fragments that glittered like diamonds. Everyone turned to stare. 

Asami was falling backwards. His legs were stiff under him, his muscles contracting simultaneously. His shoulders drew up around his ears, his jaw locking and his back seizing. As he tried to stretch out, to force his body to move, mind numbing pain crept up his spine. Eyes wide, the fixer realized that the thrashing was his. That his body spasmed and seized, flailing like a skittish colt. He could not breathe, could not see anything except bright lights and blurry outlines. 

People were shouting and screaming. Something cold grabbed his face. Glasses fell onto his nose and off of his body as Kirishima shouted to him. Asami could not hear a word the man said. He stopped moving as suddenly as it began, the pain fading until it was a memory. 

Darkness clawed at his eyes. Blacking out. He was slipping into the unconsciousness of death. It had happened at last. Someone had finally managed to take out the immortal Asami Ryuichi. His last thought was about his child and his lover. At least, they had not come along. They had not seen him like this. They had not been poisoned and murdered. It had been a good life. Asami could die knowing that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!
> 
> I had this plot in my head the moment I first thought of My Sunshine. I never thought I'd have the balls to do it. But here we go: nothing ventured, nothing gained. Or is it: you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. It's one of those two idioms. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I love you Wade Wilson!


	15. Everyone I Know Goes Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Miyanoai for looking over this. And thank you for the support that you all have given the fic. I know it's been a bumpy ride, so I appreciate you all more than you'll ever know!
> 
>  
> 
> I hope that the last chapter wasn't too traumatic. I just had to do it! It's been on my mind for a while, and I think it's important for us to see the characters outside of Asami. He's so overpowering that everyone else can get obscured, and I'm trying to get away from that. 
> 
> There is quite a bit of dialogue in the chapter, and the next one as well. I have to get everything set up for the action and drama. Bear with me, because once it starts, it's going to be a gory shit storm. Enjoy!

Chapter Three: Everyone I Know Goes Away/p>

“Move!” 

Hisana shoved a nurse out of the way. The woman stumbled, bumping against the white wall with a startled gasp. The tray in her hands clattered to the floor, but they did not stop running. Hisana was in flip flops, and her dress flared behind her like a bell. The duo had barely made it through their first course when Ueda knocked on the door. 

Akihito’s heart hammered in his chest. No. It was impossible. This couldn’t be happening. It was Asami. He was invulnerable. Not even Fei Long managed to kill him, and the Baishe leader had impeccable aim. No. Not Ryu. 

It was a media circus outside the hospital. Suoh managed to keep them out of the actual building, but it was only a matter of time before a lowlife vulture snuck in. They were clamoring about the death of Asami Ryuichi. Cameras flashed, paparazzi screamed out horrible questions. Did anyone know if there was blood? Had he suffered? Was it true that he barfed all over himself? Or that he had bitten through his tongue? They circled like sharks, embellishing any detail they could glean. It was the story of the century, and no one wanted to miss a second of it. 

The limo pulled into the parking garage until its nose touched the elevator doors. Journalists and photographers took as many shots of it as they could, trying to see what heiress or actress was in it. Surely the man’s rumored love would come to comfort him in his final minutes. They had no access to the garage, so neither Akihito nor Hisana tried to hide their face as they ran for the lift. 

“He’s fine,” Akihito kept muttering over and over and over and over again. The elevator slowly crept up the floors, taking its sweet time. He could hear every turn of the gears, every shift of weight as the jam-packed lift rose. Suoh was taking no chances, and it looked like every goon was on duty. “It’s Ryu. He’s fine. He has to be fine. He’s been through worse. Yeah, he’s totally okay.”

Hisana said nothing. Her face was as white as milk, as she stared off into space, lost in her own thoughts. Akihito did not notice. He could only think of Ryu, of his large hands, his deep voice, of the vitality that coursed in his blood. Yes, his lover was strong. He might be hurt, but he would pull through. Asami always did. Tonight was just another bad night, but it was not the end. 

Please. God, please let him live. 

“Where is he?” the heiress demanded, her breath coming in harsh snorts. 

Ueda could barely keep up with her. “The private ward, Musume-sama,” he panted. “344.”

“Directions, Ueda!” She did not have time to wander through the labyrinthine halls. 

“Left, and then two rights,” the guard had become extensively familiar with the hospital while Hisana was in surgery. 

Two guards stood on either side of his room door. They barely moved out of the way before Hisana burst in, Akihito on her heels. “Daddy,” she gasped. 

Kirishima and Suoh both rose. They had been sitting beside the crime lord, who struggled to breathe. Akihito’s stomach plummeted to the ground. Asami was hooked up to a respirator. There was barely any movement in his chest. His lungs were not sucking in enough life sustaining oxygen, and the skin beneath his swollen eyes and saggy cheeks was tinted blue. IVs were plugged into his arms, rushing medication and fluids into him. He did not move, did not stir. If it weren’t for the faint beep of the heart monitor, Akihito would have thought that he was looking at a corpse.

No, Akihito floundered to a stop, his heart stilling in his chest. That could not be Asami. Impossible. The strong body that he knew so intimately was struggling to live: to draw in his next breath, to keep his heart beating. He had just seen Ryu a few hours ago. His lover could not have been reduced to such an enfeebled state so quickly. 

“Daddy,” Hisana’s breathy exclamation was as weak as her father’s heartbeat. Dropping to her knees, she tentatively reached for his stiff hand. The fingers did not even twitch as she kissed his palm. 

“No, no, no” Akihito wailed. His throat was swollen, but he could not cry. It was so surreal. Not Asami. The fixer couldn’t die. Not now, not like this. 

“Kirishima,” Hisana’s voice warbled, but there were no tears in her voice either. Could no one cry for Asami Ryuichi? “What happened? How…? Daddy, no…”

Kirishima took a deep breath. His own body shook from fatigue as his adrenaline wore off. The moments after Asami’s seizure happened so quickly. Kihara boy forgotten, the secretary had rushed to his boss’s side. The fixer’s tense body had gone lax, and he had not been breathing. Kirishima had only reacted, not able to process what was happening. Shoving his fingers down Asami’s throat, he pressed as hard as he could. The fixer had wretched, and his body convulsed. His stomach contents rushed back up, spewing over Kirishima’s hand. The man managed to turn Asami on his side so that his vomit would not choke him, but it pooled onto the floor and soaked into his suit. 

“He was poisoned,” the man reported, his gravelly voice faltering. “It was a cocktail of tetrodotoxin and pavulon. Homemade.”

The girl’s eyes flickered as her brain decoded the information. “That’s…fugu. I mean, a sodium blocker and a paralytic. That’s almost… but that’s not the right inhibitor. Kirishima, that doesn’t make sense.”

“The doctors say that there was no anesthetic in the cocktail,” Kirishima supplied. 

Anesthetic? That struck Akihito as odd. Why would someone mix an anesthetic with a poison? Dead was dead, and poisons were meant to murder. He was so confused, but Hisana seemed to understand what the CFO was saying. Her cheeks etiolated, her red mouth dropping. “Oh my god,” her face scrunched up, and she looked like she was going to be sick. He didn’t understand what they were talking about. “What sick bastard would make it like that? Why––how is he not dead?”

“What’s the big deal?” Akihito interrupted. Frustration surged in his blood. It did not matter what type of poison was used. Asami was still nearly murdered, might be murdered if he did not pull through. “Why are we worried about the poison when it’s already killing him? Do we not have the antidote for it?”

Hisana inhaled wetly, but it was Suoh who answered. He had been silent until then, but the sight of Hisana’s hands shaking as she felt for her father’s pulse was too much. Walking around the metal bed, he gently lifted the teen up. For a moment, Akihito thought he was going to hug the girl. Then the giant pulled his arms back, and led the girl to a chair. 

“A lethal injection is given in three stages,” he told Takaba. “First, an anesthetic is administered to prevent pain. Then a paralytic. It is usually a potassium blocker, which prevents the muscles from contracting, and stops the patient from breathing.”

Akihito immediately recognized the difference. He did not know much about physiology, but Asami had not relaxed. He had seized up. Hisana had said something about a sodium blocker, so that must have been the difference. Licking his lips, the photographer wished that the body guard would stop talking. It was clear just how Asami had been poisoned, and Akihito suddenly wished that he did not know it. 

“Lastly, the condemned is given pavulon, or a similar drug that stops the heart,” Kirishima finished the explanation. “That’s how the government executes people.”

“How is he not dead?” Hisana repeated. “Ingestion is not as fast acting as intravenous injection, but it’s still quick.”

“The doctors think that he expelled most of it from his system when he vomited,” Kirishima told her. “And since the cocktail was premixed, it had time to separate. Those are the only two things that may have saved his life.”

“May?” Akihito gasped. There was still a chance that Asami might die. A lethal injection was designed to kill, and to have no cure. It would be touch and go for a while. 

“You said tetrodotoxin,” Hisana accepted the tissue Suoh offered. “That’s the same poison found in fugu. Is that why they’re filtering his blood?”

Kirishima nodded. “Yes. He’s also scheduled to receive regular transfusions until he is stable.” 

“So they’re going to bleed him,” Hisana’s eyebrows furrowed. Akihito shuddered. Leeches made him sick. 

“Yes,” the secretary did not hold back on the gory details. If Asami’s family wanted answers, then he would give them. “Asami-sama will also be on the respirator until the poisons have been flushed from his system.”

“Oh my god,” Akihito groaned as he ran his hands through his hair. This couldn’t be happening. Not Ryu. The way Kirishima spoke gave Akihito some glimmer of hope that the fixer would survive. Hisana’s agonized expression belayed her disbelief. “What are his chances?”

Kirishima looked helplessly at Suoh, who kept his hands on Hisana’s shoulders. They both were just as devastated. “You can’t quantify something like this, Takaba.” The breath left the photographer’s body. Not good, was the translation. Kirishima did not think that Asami was going to survive. 

“Can we trace the agents?” Hisana asked. “It’s not like it’s a common mixture.”

“We’re already sorting through it,” Kirishima replied. “It’s going to take several hours, though. Apart they are not extremely rare. Pavulon is a watched drug, but tetrodotoxin isn’t.” The girl sat in her chair, leaning forward and her hands clasped. It didn’t look like she could move or tear her eyes away from her beloved father. 

Akihito jumped to his feet. Restlessness grabbed ahold of him, demanding that he do something. Energy coursed through his blood, tinged with desperation. There had to be something more than they could do besides wait. He itched for adrenaline: to do something, anything. Something to help Asami. 

“Aaaugggh!” he raked his fingers through his hair. 

Kirishima’s eyes narrowed and he took a step forward. “What––“

A camera flashed several times. Akihito turned slowly, eyes wide as Hisana’s out dropped open. A man with slick back hair and dark brown eyes snapped a few more pictures, zooming in on Hisana’s etiolated face and Asami’s chest tubes. Akihito recognized him instantly. Mita Yuuta was a freelance photographer. He chased after every celebrity that had ever breathed. Nothing was sacred or off limits to him, and he had the balls to keep pushing for a better shot. Out of everyone in Japan, Akihito was not surprised that he was the paparazzo who managed to finagle a way in to the hospital. 

“Smile, Missy!” he grinned as he held the camera up again. 

“Suoh!” Hisana cried out, instinctively holding up a hand to block her face. 

The gargantuan man lunged at the sleazy journalist. He grabbed the camera in one swipe, gripping it so tightly that Akihito could hear the plastic crack. Mita’s eyes widened in irked disbelief, but as persistent as ever, he pulled another camera from his trench pocket, albeit a much smaller one. He quickly snapped a succession of pictures, making sure he got each person’s face. A newspaper would pay big money for the names and faces of Asami Ryuichi’s inner circle. 

Akihito saw Mita’s eyes flash in recognition when he looked at Akihito’s face. Fuck. Unless he acted quickly, his entire life was going to be blown wide open. The world would know that he was in love with Asami, and his career and credibility would be shot. Reaching into his suit pocket, he pulled out his cell phone. Swiping left, the flash lit up the room and he heard himself shouting, “You aren’t stealing this scoop from me!”

Hisana snorted, and then glared at both of them. Akihito took several quick photos. They were useless, but he wasn’t actually going to send them to print. “Like hell it’s your scoop,” Mita snarled. The idiot believed that he stumbled in on Akihito trying to get a picture of the heiress. Perfect. 

Suoh and Kirishima understood his plan quickly enough. Kirishima grabbed at his phone, yanking it from his fingers. Taking ahold of the photographer’s wrist, he spun him around. Akihito’s arm was pinned behind his back as Kirishima slammed him into the wall. “Ow,” he muttered, face squished tightly. That had actually hurt. 

Kirishima released some of the pressure on his back, but did not let go. It looked like he had just taken down an assailant, and Mita was eating it up. 

“You can’t do that!” the greasy guy was protesting vehemently. “That’s assault!” There was another flash off to Akihito’s right. Mita must have taken a picture of Kirishima manhandling Akihito. “This will make it into the papers, too! You can’t beat up journalists because you feel like it!”

Yeah, Akihito really would not call what Mita did journalism. Neither did Hisana, because her voice joined in the din. “Get them both out of here!” she cried. Her acting was a little too hysterical for Akihito to fully believe it, but it conveyed her message. “Out separate entrances. And confiscate anything with a camera. No one needs to see him like this.”

“You heard the lady,” Suoh roughly grabbed Mita’s sleeve. “Get out. 

“This is stealing!” the man whined. “You can’t take my property! I paid for that camera! For both of them!”

“Let’s go,” Akihito heard Suoh lift Mita off of the ground. The man gasped and wheezed, but still struggled. Kirishima pulled Akihito off the wall, arm still pinned behind him. The blond put up a struggle just for show. The secretary’s grip on him was not tight, and if he wanted to, Akihito knew that he could twist free. 

“Pay attention to everything, Takaba!” Mita shouted over his shoulder as Suoh manhandled him to the stairwell. “We’ll sue the shit out of these dicks! And Asami’s estate!”

Suoh shoved Mita through the door. It clanged open, slapping against the cement wall. Akihito jumped, startled by the loud noise. “Keep calm, Takaba,” Kirishima whispered to him. “Just until Suoh gets him out of the building and searches him.”

The door slammed shut behind Suoh and Mita, Kirishima released Akihito’s arm. Still looking at the stairwell, the photographer rubbed his aching wrist. Damn, Glasses was strong. “Can you tell Suoh that Mita usually has cameras stashed everywhere? He’s infamous for getting the shot, no matter what happens.”

Kirishima nodded. Suoh was professionally thorough, and he had never missed a camera. Still, Takaba Akihito seemed to rarely send them on wild goose chases. “I’ll let him know,” he took out his cell phone. 

Akihito walked back into Asami’s room. “Hisana, we’ve gotten rid––“

Hisana stood over her father, gold eyes blazing and a gun in her shaking hand. The soles of his shoes squeaked as he skidded to a stop. Fuck. He had not thought to take Asami’s gun, nor had the guards apparently, which was weird because said fixer was in a hospital gown and nothing else. Akihito had never seen such unbridled hatred, but it danced like flames in her molten eyes. 

“Hisana––“ he started to speak, but fell silent when a man in a white coat spoke over him. 

“He’ll need to say overnight at the very least. Thirty-six to forty-eight hours would be ideal.

“No, ideal would mean that he was healthy and at home, and the bastard that did this was dead,” Hisana snarled. She did not look at Akihito who choked on his own breath. He knew enough about Asami’s illicit world to know that you weren’t supposed to go around listing everybody who you wanted dead. Or your intentions to kill them. 

The doctor glanced at Akihito but reverted his attention to Hisana. Being the one with the gun, she was the one who needed it. “Asami-chan,” the man said softly. “He’s going to make it through this. I haven’t let either one of you down, yet.”

“It isn’t safe for him to stay here,” Hisana said softly. “Those vultures are swarming.”

The doctor nodded, and Akihito realized that he was probably looking at Reiko-sensei up close for the first time. This was the man who was entrusted with the lives of the Asami family. He was most assuredly the best doctor in Japan if he could handle such a responsibility. “I just need the night to stabilize him. Besides, it’s going to take some time to set up a viable room. I can’t release him to just any place, even if it under your care. It has to be sterile, and up to code.”   
“How long will that take?” Hisana looked over Akihito to Kirishima, who had silently entered the room. 

“I can get started on it as soon as Reiko-sensei gives me a list of the requirements for such a room,” Kirishima replied, an iPad in his hands. “Beyond that, it should just be hours to complete the project. You own a sizable share in Chiba Emergency Medical Center, and your father was a donor to Keio University Hospital. We should be able to get all the necessary equipment between them.” 

“Do it,” Hisana ordered. “The sooner we get him out of here, the better.”

“Where will we go?” Akihito finally found his voice. He noticed that Kirishima referred to Hisana as the owner of the hospital. Akihito wondered if she owned properties and investments outside of her father. It would make sense that Hisana would diversify and not wait for Asami to relinquish his business to her. The likelihood of that ever happening was slim to none. “Another safe house?” 

Hisana shrugged, and opened her mouth to answer, but Suoh interrupted her unknowingly. “Mita Yuuta has been escorted off the grounds,” the man reported as he walked back into the room. “We’ve also pushed the barricade back another three meters.”

“That won’t stop them,” Hisana ground her teeth together. “They’re going to keep coming after him.”

“Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way,” a thought struck the photographer. All four heads turned to look at him, finally giving him attention. It wasn’t like he had been talking or anything. He pulled out his cell phone. “The only reason that they’re trying to get in here is because it’s all a big mystery. They want to see Asami. Maybe we should let them.”

“Expose him when he’s most vulnerable?” Hisana’s eyebrows knotted on her forehead, her words venomous. She did not possess her father’s implacable calm, nor was she able to control her emotions so easily. Then again, she was still young and had never sat on this side of the hospital bed. Akihito was freaking out, too, but people did not feel the need to console him the way they coddled Hisana. To be fair, she was the one holding the gun. “That would be like offering his head on a silver platter to our enemies!”

Akihito held up his hands. “We can control it if we release it to the press. Make them focus on something besides Ryu.”

Kirishima ended his phone call. “What are you suggesting?” The twenty-four year old was cunning, and Asami had always trusted him. 

“Let’s take a picture of you,” Akihito gestured to Hisana. “Give them the face of the girl people whispered about all summer. It would be all people want to talk about, and it would take the focus off of Ryu.”

Her scowl softened, and she nodded her head. “Let’s do it.”

Suoh stepped between them, looming like a mountain over them. “It will put an ever larger target on your back,” he told Hisana firmly. “And it will destroy all the measures your father enacted to protect you. I strongly advise against this.”

“I’m with Suoh-san,” Reiko-sensei spoke up. Akihito had forgotten that the doctor was still present, and had not realized that his opinion was valued until Suoh nodded. “Your father would not approve of this. He wanted to keep you safe. Both of you,” he looked between Akihito and Hisana. The photographer’s stomach turned. He had not realized that Reiko-sensei had a dossier on him, and was responsible for his healthcare as well. Had this been the man that treated him after his close calls, his escapes and bouts of unconsciousness?

“It isn’t up to either of you,” Hisana replied coolly. She nodded at Akihito. “Mom can take the pictures. Mita already saw him, here. It gives him a readymade story to tell his colleagues.”

Akihito held up his cell. “I can get the pictures off this,” he suggested. “Unless someone has a camera on them.”

“Everybody out,” Hisana motioned with both of her hands. “We need to make this look good.” 

*

It took roughly thirty minutes to get the right picture, but once he saw it, Akihito knew that it was perfect. It conveyed the emotion, the drama, and the surprise all in one look. So when he sat, two days later, looking at the picture that fronted every paper in Tokyo and maybe Japan, he felt a swelling pride. Yes, it was a good photograph, but he was more pleased that his plan worked perfectly. People still talked about Asami Ryuichi’s life hanging on by a thread, but now they were not so interested in the macabre. His empire would not go to waste, would not be stripped by his opponents and eventually dissimilate. 

Heiress Found!: Unknown Daughter of Asami Ryuichi Surfaces!

He was quite proud of his article. Kirishima provided the necessary documents to back up his claims, and gave him enough filler to make it a full page spread. Akihito talked about Asami’s boyhood flings and how such promiscuity would come back to haunt the billionaire. He wrote about Hisana’s education, her time in Europe and even hinted that she was romantically involved with another of Tokyo’s bluebloods. 

He tried to keep it as realistic as possible while keeping the family in a good light. His editor loved it. He did not even question Akihito about the sources or how he was able to dig up so much unknown information. The picture was really what did it. Hisana was in the middle of standing up when he snapped it, her hand outstretched and her body hunching over Asami’s protectively. Her eyes positively glowed, her hair still curled but haphazardly twirling around her face and her pointy teeth were bared, as her burgundy lips snarled. She looked like a Eumenide, snarling and snapping her teeth. There was even a good bit of cleavage in the shot, which he had wanted to Photoshop out but his editor disallowed. 

Other tabloids and papers quickly picked up the photo and the story. They all bought copies of it from his paper, which earned him a high stipend. Once upon a time, Akihito would have been thrilled; now he was only sickened. Some people slandered the family, blatantly accusing Asami of being involved in Kurosaki Kokoro’s disappearance, and others focused on the scandalous illegitimacy of it all. Bastard took on a whole new meaning for Akihito in those days. 

“Good morning, Takaba,” Suoh entered the condo without knocking. He and Kirishima had been in and out constantly the past two days. There an entire army of goons staked in and around the penthouse. Suoh obsessively stalked the perimeter, checking for weakness in the defense, switching their shifts at random intervals with almost no warning. His dark eyes scanned the room, making sure that nothing had changed. He was as a regimented perfectionist as Kirishima, and he seemed to take his job even more seriously now, something Akihito had not thought was possible. 

“Morning,” the photographer poured a second cup of coffee. He quickly learned how the behemoth took his. “Did you get any sleep?” Suoh had been over until the wee hours of the morning the previous night. 

“A few hours,” the man accepted the steaming mug gratefully. It was the third of many to come. “Enough to get through today. Is Kirishima here?”

Akihito pointed to the terrace. “He’s taking a phone call.”

“Hmm,” the blond murmured, taking another sip. “I need to brief Ueda and Nakao before we leave. They’ll be the ones in charge of the security here.”

Akihito shifted. It was a big day: the first day of business without Asami at the helm. Monday had come at last, and it meant that it was time to return to Sion. The business had been neglected for two days, so it was imperative that today went well. Today they would know if Asami’s empire would stand strong, or if it would crumble. “Okay,” he gripped his mug tightly. He was staying home today, much to his editor’s chagrin. They were contemplating releasing another story, but wanted to see how today went first. If they gave the article a green light, Akihito would rather work from home, and stay by Asami’s side. 

“How is he doing?” Suoh asked, his back to the photographer. Akihito pretended that he did not hear the trepidation in his voice, as Suoh pretended that he was not afraid to visit Asami’s bedside. No one wanted to see the waxen faced fixer struggle to breathe. 

“No change,” Akihito’s voice struggled to stay audible. “Reiko-sensei is taking him off the anesthesia this afternoon, so he will wake up soon.”

Suoh nodded, but did not say anything as he walked away. Akihito’s shoulders slumped. They just had to make it through today. Resilience and optimism straightening his spine, he walked into the third bedroom. Originally it was his workroom, but once he knew where they were moving Asami, he insisted that they use it for his sick room. It had the most outlets, and the medical equipment had a lot of plugs. Hisana was fluffing Ryu’s pillow. “Hey,” he said softly. 

“There’s more color in his cheeks, don’t you think?” she brushed back Asami’s flaccid hair, her voice shaking. “He looks like he’s getting stronger.”

“Ryu is a fighter,” Akihito replied just as quietly. “He’s going to be fine.” She sniffed loudly, and looked up, trying to keep the tears in her eyes. “You look beautiful,” he told her, because, fuck, she was as beautiful as her father. Her long hair slicked back into a tight bun, and winged eyeliner slicked above her eyes. She looked every bit the powerhouse that Asami Ryuichi was. For the first time in two days, hope flared in his chest. “You’ll do great today.”

“I won’t let him down,” Hisana promised. “I can do this.”

“He would be proud of you,” Akihito reassured her. Not many people would dare fill his shoes so quickly, or presume that they were capable of running his company. When Hisana announced at dinner the night before that she would run her father’s business while he was incapacitated, Akihito was stunned. Honestly, it had never entered his mind that she could or would do it. He assumed that Kirishima would keep things afloat until Asami was back on his feet, and that Suoh would step in if necessary. Hisana was young and had absolutely no experience in the business world. The readied acceptance of Suoh and Kirishima startled him further, but looking at her now in a power suit with her father’s stern expression, Akihito found his faith burgeoning. “And I’m proud of you, too.”

Hisana flung her arms around him. “Thanks, Mom,” she whispered into his chest. Akihito hugged her back tightly. God, it felt like his world was slowly falling apart at the seams, and there was nothing he could to fix it except wait and pray. 

There was a knock on the door frame. “Asami-sama,” Kirishima spoke softly, but the look in his eyes was that of a proud father. “It is time to go.”

Hisana pulled away with a jerk of her chin. Smoothing her skirt, she buttoned her suit jacket. “Have a good day,” he told her, as if he was saying goodbye to Ryu. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“You too,” she said while Kirishima helped her into her trench coat. It was snowing outside, beautiful thick flurries that begged to made into snowmen. If it had been a normal weekend, they would be bundling up to play in the snow and saying good day to Ryu. Every eye in the condo was fixated on them, listening to their conversation. Akihito was getting so used to their hovering presence that he almost forgot that they were there. The guards watched the transition of power, the passing of the torch, and in that moment, Akihito knew that they would obey her as if she were Asami. “Call me if you need anything.”

Akihito nodded. “You too,” he scratched Asimov behind the ears. The massive pit bull, who had gotten slightly portly during his months in Japan, sat beside the photographer. He had not left Hisana's side since the fixer was first wheeled in to the penthouse, giving her the support and love she needed. Now that she was leaving, the faithful mutt gave his affection to Akihito. 

The door closed behind her. He stood in the genkan until the elevator doors chimed as they slid shut. Ueda and Nakao said nothing as they followed him back to Asami’s side. The rest of the guards kept their vigils, and prayed that nothing happened during their shift. Sitting back down in his chair, he was grateful that Ueda and Nakao chose to wait outside. He just wanted a few moments alone with his lover. 

“Hey,” Akihito said as he took Asami’s limp hand. “She’s right, you know. You’re looking better every time I see you.”

Asami was unresponsive, not reacting to the photographer’s voice or touch. Reiko-sensei said that the fixer could hear everyone who spoke to him, so Akihito talked his ear off. “It’s Hisana’s first day as CEO. I’m sure she’ll do flawless,” he chuckled mirthlessly. “She is your kid after all. She’s got to be an asshole at heart, just like you.

“Please, Ryu. You need to wake up. You can beat this, I know you can. Please, for me. I can’t do this on my own. I love you. So please, come back to me.”

Asimov trotted into the room. With soft whine, he laid down beside Akihito's chair. Together, they kept watch as they waited for Reiko-senei to come. It was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course Asami isn't dead! I've been thinking about killing him off, but I haven't decided yet. I am honestly not sure if I have the balls to do it. Also, if I don't know, the characters don't know and that keeps their fear a little more genuine. In my opinion, anyway. 
> 
> Have a great week everybody!


	16. In the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to say a huge thank you Miyanoai. I am so blessed to have such a supportive and funny beta. Who shares my fear of roller coasters, so that is a huge plus. 
> 
> Secondly, this chapter is dedicated to the phenomenally talented Delmire. We had someone try to start some drama, and just to be clear, that is unacceptable. Posting on this site takes courage, because when you do, you're putting a part of yourself out there to be judged. Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome, because we can all improve our craft. Cruelness is intolerable, and tearing someone down because you can is bullying. Likewise, stories will vary in details but there will always be similarities. We're writing about the same two characters. It's only natural for us to all share a general sense of who they are and how they're lives would be. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. It is all about the set up, because shit's gonna fly in the next one.

Chapter Four: In the End/p>

There was a media circus on the steps of Sion. The tall glass building loomed over the southside of Shinjuku, and though it was one of the newer buildings in the area, it was still an infamous business. Give it another decade, and it would be a landmark. Hisana was determined to make it as famous at the Sky Tree. 

“Asami-sama,” Kirishima had been quiet most of the car ride, giving her plenty of time to look over the pertinent reports for the day, only speaking to answer her questions. She was going to hit the ground running, and that meant meetings. Lots of meetings. Daddy had only been out of the business for two days, so she could not see how it could have all fallen to shambles, but she was prepared for the worst. “Would you like to use the underground entrance?”

Hisana looked out the window. The faceless throng milled about, lights flashing even though nothing interesting had happened. Ever since Mom’s picture had earned him a hefty sum, they were eager for more. Bottom feeders, the lot of them, but she was not about to cower on her first day. “No need,” she tried to keep her voice light. “My hair looks good today.”

Suoh coughed to cover up a chuckle. Kirishima shook his head and Hisana smirked. “I wasn’t trying to be funny,” but she too giggled. The BMW slowly rolled to a stop, the brakes as silent as the gathered crowd. No one coughed or dared to breathe as Kirishima stepped out of the car. He too was dressed to the nines today in a dark gray suit and his curly hair slicked back. They all looked their best. It was about more than making an impression, it was a declaration to the world that they were still strong, that the regime was as firm as ever. 

It happened in slow motion, like a scene from a movie. The CFO was opening the door as a small foot and a slim ankle stepped onto the rough cement. Suoh was already on the other side of the limo, hand extended like a gentleman, helping her stand. They were laying the drama on thick, but the media lapped it up, shouting questions and snapping pictures. Hisana walked between them, head high and shoulders squared. Her mink coat swallowed her, making her look more like a movie star than a businesswoman, but Hisana did not mind. Her coat was both cute and warm, and if the men saw her as vapid, well that was to her advantage. 

The two doormen had never officially met Hisana before, but they bowed low as they pulled the doors open. A security team ran out, pushing back the media who shoved forward. A lucky few might make it into the building for an interview if they were quick about it. No one did, though. Heads turned and a hush fell over the atrium as employees watched her walk to the elevator. All these people who now worked for her were sizing her up. 

A brave man stepped forward. “Good morning, Asami-san,” he bowed at the waist. 

Turning her head while pressing the elevator button, Hisana dipped her chin. “Good morning.” The doors slid open with a chime, and she gestured inside the lift. “Are you going up?”

The brave man flushed. “I’ll take the text one,” he stumbled over his words. “Th-thank you for the offer.”

“Suit yourself,” Hisana walked into the elevator, Kirishima and Suoh on her heels. 

“That was cruel,” Suoh remarked blandly as they faced forward. “You shouldn’t tease them like that,”

Hisana smiled and bit the end of her tongue. “I can do it one better,” she told him. “What was his name?”

“His badge said Fujimoto,” the ever observant secretary responded. 

“Don’t look so scared, Fujimoto,” Hisana said loudly as the doors slowly began to shut. The underling looked up at her, his mouth dropping. Behind her, Suoh chuckled as she cooed. “I don’t bite.”

The last thing she saw was his dark eyes bulging out of their sockets, his face sanguine. Thankfully, the elevator doors shut at last because her stomach was hurting from the effort it took to stifle her laughs. 

*

Akihito paced laps around the condo, doing his best to stay calm. His editor kept calling him, and though he wanted to turn the blasted thing off, he was waiting on a call from Reiko-sensei. It was too important to risk missing, so he suffered through Iwata’s countless calls. He knew what the man wanted anyway. Hisana was holding a press conference at ten-thirty that morning, and the paper needed a representative. Since Akihito had broken the story, Iwata was offering him first dibs. He needed to answer his phone, to tell the man he was going so Mitari could not, but he did not want to spend an hour listening to Iwata’s rambling. 

With a sigh, he finally took the call. Not that he was actually going to go the press conference. He had helped her prep the speech, and had written an article based off it. He only had to wait until the conference had ended to submit it. Funny how three days ago, he had been worried about getting his next big scoop. Now, he would trade everything in the world for it all to be a dream.

*

The men in her father’s employ––no, her employ––watched her closely. Hisana knew that it they were judging her every move, discerning if she was her father, or if they could take advantage of her while he was under. She had to be impeccable if she wanted to keep everything from falling apart. Sion was on the brink of collapse, and what she did today would determine if the lieutenants stayed loyal to the family, or if they broke free to start their own organizations. 

“What is the first item on the agenda?” Hisana asked as the elevator doors slid open to the grand foyer before Asami’s office. His office, Kirishima and Suoh’s, took up the entire floor. There was also a reception area, with Iseri-san’s desk on one side. It was massive, an architectural feat. No one needed this much space, but her daddy got it because he could. 

“Yours or your fathers?” Kirishima asked while Iseri stood to help her out of her coat. Poor Suoh was left to carry her large purse. It was a black and white modern print Birkin, with Tiffany’s blue handles. She had wanted one that was all that signature blue, but it really did not go with much else she owned. Hisana settled on having custom made straps for her bag, and loved it. 

“How different are they?” Hisana smiled in thanks as Iseri. She had spent hours in this office during her childhood. She watched her father’s fledgling company grow into the mammoth corporation that dominated Japan. The grandiosity of Sion was staggering, but she had grown so used to it that Hisana barely noticed her heels clacking on the marble floors as Kirishima and Suoh followed her from the elevator.

“Your father had several meetings planned. There was marketing budget that he needed to approve, several pitches involving his diversification of the nuclear funds to renewable energy. Also, he had an arms deal to negotiate with the Sicilians.” 

“And what about my schedule?” 

“You need to meet with the board, as well as the lieutenants,” Kirishima did not try to sugar coat it. Her power was tenuous, even with Asami’s main men backing back her. “Once they buy into you, Japan will be fairly secure. You might have uprising with the smaller syndicates, but nothing that should destroy the company unless you let it get out of hand.” That was a warning to not be vain. Anyone could die. Her father, struggling to breathe though oxygen was pumped steadily into him, was proof of that. 

“There is also your press conference at ten-thirty. It will reassure the public that even though you are a new face, you are capable of running the corporation. Much of the city is employed by you, directly and indirectly, so it is imperative to keep the public at ease. You still need them to spend their money.”

That made sense. “And after that? The arms deal?” 

Kirishima chuckled as Suoh shook his head. Of course Hisana would be eager to dive into the underworld. It was volatile, and that would be where she would have to concentrate her power display. “If you wish. The police also have requested an interview for today. They want to talk about any enemies Asami-sama might have.”

Hisana turned around, an eyebrow arched. “Do they know him?” she asked incredulously. “Besides, I thought they already talked to you and Suoh. You were the ones there.”

“They did,” the big guy confirmed. 

“They seem to think that we’re not the most reliable of sources concerning him,” Kirishima chuckled lightly. Hisana rolled her eyes. They spent every day with her dad. Sometimes, she thought her uncles knew him better than she or Mom did. 

“Oh wow,” Hisana floundered to a stop, her tall heels sliding slightly on the polished marble floors. “That’s new.”

Kirishima and Suoh were just as stunned. Asami-sama’s office had been stuffed to the brim with flowers. Bright, gay colors filled the room, as hundred different scents mixed together in a perfume that was too potently saccharine to smell. There was a walkway around the room, giving access to the different points of the office, but the flowers were so prominent that anywhere she looked, Hisana saw them. On the coffee table was a huge stack of cards, most of them unopened. There was an assortment of gifts as well, from well wishers or people who wanted to get on her good side, the heiress wasn’t sure. 

“They started coming yesterday,” Iseri said from behind them. They all turned to look at the middle-aged woman with slicked back gray hair, exposing her angular face. “When I realized what they were, I had them put in his––your office,” she stumbled over her words. 

“Thanks, I guess,” Hisana looked helplessly at the myriad of color in the normally stark office. 

“I hadn’t expected this,” the CFO admitted. 

Suoh shrugged. “None of us did.”

“I guess,” Hisana looked at Iseri as she pointed into the office. “Can you catalogue everything, and start on the thank you notes?” It would be rude to snub Tokyo’s elite, when they had reached out to her in such an unanticipated way. 

“Of course, Asami-sama,” Iseri bowed, taking her cues from Kirishima and Suoh.

“Thanks,” the girl braced herself before walking purposefully into the room. “Let’s get some windows open in here!” She gingerly walked towards the one by the water cooler. “It stinks!”

The elevator doors chimed as they opened. She heard a squeaky voice of a teen delivery boy. “Flowers for Asami Hisana,” he told Iseri loudly. “From a Hashimoto Toshiro.”

Her shoulders slumped. Damn, it was going to be a long day.

*

His phone ringing loudly pulled Akihito from his stupor. He had been sitting by Ryu’s bed, editing his current article. It had to be perfect. Tokyo’s news outlets were going to look for chinks in Sion’s armor, so it was up to Akihito to put a positive spin on everything. “Takaba speaking,” he answered a number that he did not recognize. It was probably a smaller newspaper, wanting a discount for Hisana’s picture. They argued that they were too poor to pay such a renown photographer, stroking his ego before asking for the price cut. 

“This is Takaba Akihito? The photographer?” a woman’s susurrus voice answered him. 

Akihito groaned internally as he collapsed into his chair. He didn’t want to talk about the stupid picture anymore, or tell how he had gotten his “inside source”. He never would give a lead anyway, but now he just wanted to wait for Reiko-sensei with some peace and quiet! “This is he,” he answered, trying to sound polite. 

“This is Asami Etsuko, Ryuichi’s mother.” 

His heart stopped. Asami Etsuko. Ryu’s mother. He knew that his lover had to have a mother, and that she was alive somewhere in the remote recesses of Japan, but in his mind, she was an intangible spirit. The woman on the line had a strong, warm voice. It was nearly the same voice as Hisana. And she was talking to him. Holy fuck, Ryu’s mother had called his phone and he had not even introduced the fixer to his parents! 

Not good. Not good at all. 

“Hello? Takaba?” Asami Etsuko’s voice resonated over the line. 

“Yes, I’m sorry,” he hastily apologized. “I thought––“ he stopped short. Maybe this woman did not know he was Ryu’s lover. She might have thought he was the just the journalist who broke the story and was going to threaten him away from the family. That was a very Asami thing to do. Or, she might not even be Asami Etsuko, he reasoned. It could be someone looking for an inside scoop on the family. Even worse, a fellow syndicate trying to get an edge of the ill man. 

“I’m sure,” Etsuko replied dismissively. She had many of the same tonal fluctuations as his lover did, that was certain. “I am calling you, because of a certain newspaper article that I read. Imagine my shock when I opened my paper this morning to see my granddaughter’s birth exposed, and my son slandered. Worst of all, he was poisoned, and no one thought to inform me.” 

“Ma’am, I––“

“I tried to call Hisana this morning, several times in fact. And each time, a woman named Iseri-san said that she was in meetings before and after her press conference at ten-thirty. Thankfully, Ryuichi’s man––Kirishima is his name, I believe––gave me your number. The photographer who wrote that awful story.” 

“I don’t know what you know about your son, Asami-san,” Akihito tried to stay diplomatic. “But I am close with him, and Hisana.”

“Don’t play coy. It isn’t becoming,” the woman told him crisply. “Kirishima told me everything. You’re the lover that he has had stashed away for almost two years now. I had heard of you, but I assumed that you were a woman.”

Akihito’s heart dropped. Great, the Asami matriarch already did not like him. He had never imagined speaking to the woman, but he would have hoped that it would go better than this! “Uhh…” he would have given anything to be more articulate, too. First impressions only happened once, and Akihito was pretty sure that he was backsliding on the ‘Awesome-Guy-Who-Is-Dating-Asami-Ryuichi’ scale. 

“I’m sure it’s better this way,” Etsuko kept talking. Now he knew where Hisana picked up that mannerism. “At least he can’t knock you up like he did that whore.”

“Yeah,” his voice, and agreement, was weak. But he was taken aback by her bluntness. The photographer also hoped that she was talking about Kokoro, and not another baby mama. His nerves couldn’t handle any more of the Asami family suddenly popping up. It made sense that Ryu had family, though it had never even entered the scope of Akihito’s imagination. 

“Speak up when you talk, Takaba. I can barely hear you. It’s like you’re grunting monosyllabically,” Etsuko told him. 

Well, it sounded like that because he could barely think, let alone enunciate. Akihito was not stupid enough to point that out. “Sorry,” he opted for that instead. 

“You’re still doing it,” Etsuko admonished him with the practiced experience of a mother and grandmother. “Stop it. I need you to tell me, in great detail, how my son is doing. What happened to him? Do I need to come to Tokyo?” 

Takaba Akihito, fearless in the face of danger, settled back into his chair to talk to the closest thing that he would get to a mother-in-law, as he waited for Reiko-sensei to show up and save him. At least, Asami Etsuko’s impression of him could not get any worse.

*

The crowd did not make a sound as she delivered her speech. It was a good one, about how family was important, how blood bonds and honor had formed Japan. She reassured every employee that Sion was in good hands until her father returned. It was generic, and expected, more like a speech written for a collegiate class. Kirishima could have written one exponentially better in his sleep, but the words seemed meaningless as the crowd lapped it up. Hisana had the makings of a master orator, playing to the crowd with her big eyes and sweet face. Barely ten minutes of in, Kirishima’s shoulders relaxed. Japan and the booming market had bough into her; Sion would still thrive. 

After the speech, Hisana answered a few questions and smiled obligingly for the cameras. Kirishima was proud. He did not see how her hands shook, or felt her heart race beneath her bony chest as she struggled to keep her composure. She had thrown up before the press conference, but had sworn Suoh to secrecy. He only knew because he held her back as she wretched.

“Hello, Gentleman,” Hisana smiled brightly when she walked into the conference room minutes after the press conference. Fourteen men stood, hands by their sides, as she entered. These were her father’s lieutenants, the men who he trusted to run the various outposts of the corporation. They handled the day to day aspects of the company, and carried out any special orders he had. Oftentimes, Asami Ryuichi was not onsite for drug deals or arms exchanges, keeping enough distance for plausible deniability. They oversaw shipment arrivals as well, cataloguing the merchandise, and distributing it within their districts. It was through the men that Asami Ryuichi kept a tight fisted hold on Japan, and he rewarded them handsomely for it. However, should they betray him, no matter what, the price was always too steep to pay. 

They all bowed in respect but she could see it in their eyes: they had been prepared for anything, but not Hisana. Their wavering faith had been somewhat reassured by her easy manipulation of the crowd at the press conference, but they were not sure she was capable of running the massive underworld circuit. She was a gracious host, gesturing for them to sit as she did. “Thank you for meeting me on such short notice. I know some of you had long trips to make.” She paid for the planes to ferry them down here, after all. 

The men shifted, unsure if they were to respond to her. Asami-sama was taciturn, not keen on exchanging pleasantries. He also never thanked them for their attendance. It was mandatory, and if he issued on order, it was to be obeyed with haste. One man, in his mid fifties was brave enough to answer. “It was our pleasure to come, Asami-sama,” he bowed his head again. 

Hisana leaned back in her chair, fingertips touching. “I remember you. Osada Kaito, right? Your youngest son is a few years older than I am.”

The kindly man flushed, pleased that she remembered him after so many years had passed. “Your head barely reached your father’s hip the last time I saw you,” he reminded her. “You were seven? And the most eloquent child I had ever met.”

“I think your son was shorter than I was,” Hisana said with a laugh. Osada Kaito was one of the first men that her father had trusted with power. He ran Osaka, and they had made the trip to see the shipyard before vacationing on the black beaches. 

Osada nodded his head. “Taiyuka has grown. He’s a head and shoulders above you, now.”

She pouted prettily. “I always liked being taller than someone,” she admitted. Levity vanishing from her voice, she looked at every man seated at the table, still a gracious hostess. “I haven’t introduced myself yet, but I am sure that you already know me. Many of you watched my speech from the mezzanine. My name is Asami Hisana, and until my father recovers, I will be working alongside you to keep Sion strong.”

“What do you know about business?” a man in a bright white suit demanded. “You are a child.”

“Quite a bit, actually,” Hisana batted her eyes. “I know that you are the lieutenant in charge of Miyazaki and Kagoshima, though you want to head Kochi or Ehime after we divide the district. I know quite a bit about you personally, Enomoto Shin. I can assure you, at least while I’m here,” Hisana pressed a manicured hand to her protuberant collarbones. “It won’t happen. You're barely breaking even now. And I know that you are not stealing or tying to screw me over. Kirishima has already looked into it,” she tossed her hair over her should as she indicated to the CFO sitting to her right. 

“Which means that it is bad management. Don’t look so surprised, Enomoto. You already knew that,” she told the gobsmacked man. “Daddy puts it all on the table during the meetings. Probably in the interest of mutual accountability. Everybody knows everyone else’s business, right?” Hisana simper echoed a cat’s, after it had gorged itself on milk. “So gentlemen, in the interest of accountability, I want a report of how business is going for each of you. “

Leaning back comfortably in her chair, she continued. “Let’s see who has the balls to lie to me.”

*

The doorbell rang. Akihito stood up, phone still pressed to his ear. He was so used to Ueda that he did not even release that the faithful man had fallen in step protectively behind him. Etsuko was still talking. They had watched Hisana’s televised speech together, and discussed private Asami family secrets. The woman was under the impression that he married Ryu, and he had not found an opening to correct her. She also forcefully demanded that Akihito call her by her first name. “We’re family, now. I now how stubborn my son is, and if he has decided to keep you close, I can’t change his mind. And Hisana is fond of you. Apparently she calls you some sort of English endearment. Mom, I believe”

“Etsuko––“he cut her off. “Someone’s at the door.”

The woman gasped. “The doctor?”

His face was grim as Akihito peeked through the peephole. “Yeah. I need to go.”

“Of course. Of course. You’ve got my number? Call me as soon as he leaves. I want to know everything.”

“I will,” the photographer promised. Hanging up, he pulled the door open. His eardrum ached from the constant barrage of Asami Etsuko’s voice. “Hello, Reiko-sensei,” he greeted the aging man. 

“Takaba-san,” the doctor nodded his head. “It’s a good day,” he smiled. 

Akihito could not agree more.

*

Kirishima stood at the door, reports in his hand. The young woman had a stack of budget cuts in front of her, but instead stared at the thousand of flower petals that spilled out of the office. Hisana had known that her father had an astounding amount of work to do each day. It came with running a multibillion yen company that had diversified into too many accounts to count. He trusted the chain of command that trickled down through the company to accomplish their work, knowing that there would be hell to pay if they did not. Kirishima also shouldered a great deal of the burden, but her workaholic father like to double check everything. 

“Asami-sama,” the CFO gently announced his presence. He seemed to be the only person without the least bit concern that she could do this. Suoh and Iseri had known her most of her life, and though they trusted her, still had some reservation about it. Kirishima, bless his soul, had accepted the shift in power without batting an eye, which forced the rest of the organization to. “I have the lists of the workers from the gala.”

Her eyes hardened, but she did not stop staring at the flowers. There were bight colors and cloying scents. The lilies mourned a man that was not yet dead while the peonies were a cheery prayer that he recovered. There were too many to count: friends of her father, business partners, people trying to get on her good side and make a good impression. One flower stood out from all the rest, simply because it was so small as it sat on the edge of her desk. Most men sent large bouquets with organza ribbons and sweet notes. A lone rose stood proud in a crystal vase with no ornamentation, it was a deep burgundy, darker than the color of blood. The only thing on the card was the letter ‘M’. 

“We looked into anyone who had anything to do with the gala,” he informed her. “Wait staff, coat checks, cooks, security. They all came back clean except for Hama Keiko, a twenty-two year old senior at the University of Tokyo. Hama had worked private events throughout her collegiate career to subsidize her finances.”

“Had?” Hisana arched an eyebrow. That was past tense, which only meant one thing. 

“Had,” Kirishima confirmed. “Hama reported missing last Wednesday by her sister. Her body was found yesterday morning.”

The silence was deafening Hisana absorbed the information. Kirishima waited patiently for her to speak. After nearly five minutes, she sighed. “What are you thinking? Did she poison my father and was then murdered by whomever hired her? Or was she killed and replaced by an assassin?”

Kirishima placed the briefings on her desk. “I can only speculate. Hama was consummate professional at events like these. It is why she was a perfect candidate for Saturday night. Her background was thoroughly investigated, and came back clean. I personally think that she was replaced, but I can’t prove it.”

Hisana breathed in loudly through her nose. “That was what I was thinking. It is a better way for this bastard to cover his tracks, and it’s less messy. It also means we’re at another dead end.”

“I have the list of people who recently purchased pavulon. It is a small list, because the drug is so heavily regulated. We’re cross checking it with all tetrodotoxin buyers. Fugu and otherwise. That could turn up something.”

Hisana wasn’t so sure. If she was making a cocktail like that, she would have to unrelated people make the buy. That way, no one could tie them together if they investigated it, like they were doing now. She had a feeling that whoever had tried to murder her daddy was smart. It took brains over guts to hurt a man like Asami Ryuichi. 

“Is here anything else you need from me?” Kirishima asked. 

Hisana knew that her father rarely kept the CFO in the room while he worked. Kirishima had his own job to do, and him hovering meant that work did not get done. It was much more efficient for him to be out of the room, but it comforted her to have him by her side. He knew it too, and she did not want him to see her as weak. “That will be all. Thank you, Kirishima.”

He bowed low. “As always, Asami-sama, it is my pleasure.” And he truly meant it. 

*

“Any moment now,” Reiko-sensei pulled the needle out of Ryu’s IV. 

Akihito leaned in close to his lover, his fingers tentatively touching the man’s cheek. “Ryu?” he whispered. “Can you hear me? It’s Akihito.”

The crime lord shifted, and the doctor immediately saw it. “Keep talking,” he instructed the photographer. “He is responding to your voice.”

Akihito gulped. Wetting his lips, he brushed Ryu’s bangs back. “Please, wake up. I’m here, waiting for you. Hisana’s waiting. We love you, so much. Come back to us, Ryu.” 

Asami’s forehead crinkled, his eyebrows drawing together as if he could hear his photographer call to him. HIs eyelids moved as his dark eyes flitted back and forth beneath the sealed lids. And then his cheeks contracted, willing his eyes to open. 

“Come on, Ryu,” urged Akihito. “Open your eyes. You can do it. C’mon, wake up.”

 

*

Hisana hung up the phone, having just ended negotiations with the Sicilians. Kirishima and Suoh sat across from her, on another couch. They had coached her through the process, writing notes and helpful tidbits. She was too slow to threaten, too quick to laugh, but the frigidity in her thin voice chilled Suoh to his bones. Her casual way of speaking was almost more threatening that Asami’s iron tones and brisk words.

The red rose had been moved from the desk to the coffee table before the meeting. When she got bored with the Sicilian’s chatter, she would stare at it. Beside it, on the ground because it was too large, was the bouquet the Kihara had sent her. It was full tulips, which were her favorite flower, and little poems that made her smile. It was thoughtful, and Kirishima was begrudgingly impressed that her suitor knew her so well. Still, they did not seem to capture her gaze like Al Madani’s rose.

“It was not your father’s intent to keep him out of your life,” the secretary broke the silence. “He fought for him.”

Gold eyes flicked up to look at him through dark lashes. “We both know that if Daddy really wanted Mahdi here, he’d be here,” Hisana traced her fingers over the gossamer petals. “Not surprisingly, he’s still in Abu Dhabi.” She was unsurprised that Kirishima finally broached the subject of Mahdi. He had spoken frankly with Asami several times about Akihito, so he would feel at ease talking about her ex so casually. 

Kirishima steeled himself. He had been preparing to say the words all morning, even though he thought it was a terrible idea. “You could always send someone to fetch him.” Asami was relentless when Takaba had been taken from him, and stopped at nothing to get the boy back. The family was intemperate and voracious. Now that she had the power to get Mahdi Al Madani back, Kirishima believe she would, even if it meant starting a war with the Emirates. 

She finally turned around to look at him. “Would you do it? Would Suoh? If I gave the order, would you send a team to go get him?”

His answer was immediate. “It would be against my better judgement, but yes, I would.”

The corner of her mouth quirked into a malicious smirk. “Good,” her eyes glinted in triumph. She stroked the rose one last time, relishing in the softness. A sudden twist of her hand and it crumpled, crushed in her fist. Petals flutter to the floor like tears as Hisana pushed herself off the settee and walked to the door. 

“Let’s go pay Sakazaki a visit,” she told both a stunned Suoh and Kirishima, who struggled to stand after the sudden aggression. “He wanted Daddy to be paranoid, and I want to know why. And Kirishima?” She paused for a moment while the secretary got her coat off the rack. “Don’t give me that look again. I’m like my father in a lot of ways, but I’ll never be led around by the balls like him.”

Kirishima flushed. He was used to such frankness from Akihito, but Asami spoke with more finesse. “Yes, Asami-sama,” he promised. He exchanged a glance with Suoh over her head. Maybe they had misjudged her feelings for the Al Madani boy. Or worse, she was willing to forget them for the sake of Sion. If so, Hisana would truly be like her father before he met Takaba: emotionally unattached and willing to do whatever was necessary to stay at the top. 

Hisana smiled privately. On the whole, the day was going much better than expected. Now, she just had to get to Sakazaki, and find out what the man knew. Then, she would kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, shit is coming in honor of Fanfic3112, who likes revenge. And for everyone who wants gore, violence, and retribution, the next chapter is for you, too. Even though it wasn't Sakazaki who ordered the hit on Asami. He just chose a bad time to make a move against the Asami family, and against Akihito.
> 
> And BTW, I've got another chapter of HB going. I'll publish it before the end of AIP? In case anyone was wondering lol.


	17. You Could Have It All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd. I'm too sleepy to reread this at the moment. I'll go back tomorrow and fix any errors.

Chapter Five: And You Could Have It All

She looked at the watery red that stained her fingertips, surprised by the thinness of it. People talked about its strength, its power, of how it bound people together with some intangible force. Thicker than water, they said. Those same people were impressed by the viscidity of it, she supposed, and how it was impossible to remove from the carpet. Hisana rubbed her fingers together, chin tilted in contemplation, transfixed by it. 

Sakazaki struggled to sneer, though it was getting painful for him to breathe. He was tied to an office chair surrounded by his knick knacks and family photos. Let his mother watch him die. He had not expected her to come after him, not with Asami Ryuichi struggling to draw his next breath. Club Devisee was a hotspot, urban and full of salacious assholes desperate to get their chomps into the abhorrent. Just a taste to satiate their deepest, darkest desires that would make the common man wretch in revulsion.

“You aren’t going to make me sing, little bird,” Sakazaki blinked his dark eyes. His shirt was torn off of him, his glasses long gone. His hairy chest had been diligently flayed open, skin methodically sliced from muscle and tendon from bone. A morbid curiosity had struck her, and bending before him, she lifted her hand tentatively. Sure enough, she could touch the exposed, bloody rib with her fingers. That was how she got the blood on her hands. Daddy wouldn’t be pleased by the mess. 

Sakazaki’s hands flexed when her men tore into his locked file cabinets. His life’s work was there: shady deals, criminal plans, assassination plots, all at her bloodstained fingertips. “I’m not afraid of pain.”

She finally leveled her eyes to him. “I don’t want you to be afraid,” the razor thin knife slipped slightly between her fingers, glinting in the fluorescent light. “I want you to be honest with me.”

“Honest?” he chuckled. His face was relatively unscathed. Suoh had told her that if you hit a man first in the head, it would rattle him. Addled brains meant bad information and she wasn’t here for kicks and giggles. “What makes you think I wouldn’t be honest? I haven’t lied to you yet.”

She smirked. Kirishima and Suoh stood on either side of her, their hands bloody. They had been the ones to slice Sakazaki’s skin, not her. “True,” agreed the heiress. “But then again, I haven’t asked you anything.”

Sakazaki shrugged his shoulders, wincing at the pain but not commenting on it. His head dropped back as he spoke. “Then ask me, little bird,” he croaked. 

“Are you the one who tried to kill my father?” Hisana asked. She pressed her finger onto the blade until the pressure was almost too much, just before the skin broke. She inhaled deeply. The pain grounded her to the moment, kept her from getting swept away in the hallucinatory interrogation. “You’ve already begun to usurp his throne.”

Sakazaki wheezed, “I don’t want the throne, little girl.”

His bared her teeth. “Just the empire.”

The club owner drew a shaky breath. His chest was split open, bone exposed to the air, but he was cocky. As if he expected to survive this night, as if she wasn’t going to kill him. “Only a fool would not capitalize on a situation like this,” he told her. “We both know Asami would have done the same thing.”

“My father has the power to slaughter anyone in his way. He has the strength to consume all of Japan,” she did not deny it. Asami Ryuichi would have absorbed a felled rival’s holdings in an instant. “You don’t have the kind of power.”

Sakazaki’s eyes flashed. “You have to start somewhere, and like I said, this was too good an opportunity to pass up. Asami’s down for the count. Be honest with yourself, girl. You don’t have the clout to run his business. Japan is ruled by traditional, old men, and they don’t cower before a woman.”

The floor was covered with dark blood, richly fragrant. It was a very appealing smell, dusky and coppery. Expensive, like it might cost someone a fortune––or a life. His own blood formed a halo around his soaked chair, pulling him to the afterlife though he was not yet dead.

“Have you ever wondered what it would look like to a dissect a body while it was living?” Hisana stood up, very thankful that her hair was tied tightly behind her head. It was about to get messy. Sakazaki’s eyes narrowed, gauging her, not sure if this was an empty threat. “Not some cadaver at a medical school, but cutting someone open while they are alive, and watching their organs twist and their blood pump. I think it would be fascinating,” she slurred the last word. 

“You can try it little bird,” for the first time, the man’s voice shook but he tried to mask it with bravado. “It would have to be a quick look, though. I’ll lose too much blood after the first few minutes for you to see anything working.” It would be excruciating, but quick. That was at the most any man could hope for in a moment like this. 

“I know,” she pouted. “Surgeons do it all the time. But they have bypass and transfusions. Of course their goal is to keep the heart beating, but that wouldn’t be my highest priority.” Leaning close, she told him, “It would be much more fascinating to watch someone die.”

Sakazaki tilted his head back,which made his chin jut out. “It isn’t, little bird. Every man dies the same.”

“I’ve only killed one person” she stood up, eyes cold. “It wasn’t a man, and it wasn’t bloody. It would still be a new experience for me.”

Sakazaki scoffed, hairy lips curling upwards. “Asami Ryuichi’s bastard, and you haven’t killed anyone? They said you fucked the Emirati boy. Did he not have the balls to do it, either?”

Eyes narrowed incredulously, Hisana’s mouth dropped open. “Do you think that the only way to teach someone to fear is by killing?” Her bloody finger tapped her cheek, his blood forming red tears on its curve. 

His hands fisted, twisting and unconsciously jerking on the handcuffs. Bloody ribcage expanding, he replied, “You aren’t going to kill me.” The sleazy club owner licked his own blood off of the side of his mouth. “You don’t have the stomach for it.”

“I believe you,” the thin blade glinted. Gold eyes leveled with brown. “You didn’t try to kill my father. But don’t mistake my belief for fear. You have a long night ahead of you.”

“And I don’t know who did,” Sakazaki’s body stayed tense, prepared for the onslaught that was sure to come. The Asami family always struck when it was least expected. 

“That’s a sha––“

“Asami-sama!” one of the men interrupted loudly. Silence crashed around them as the goons froze. Eyes bulging, they looked to the idiot that dared interrupt the interrogation. Even Sakazaki liked startled. 

Knees shaking, a man with cropped hair and a black tie stood. He had been tearing through Sakazaki’s files, looking for any useful information or blackmail. His face was ghostly, and he clutched a folder so tightly that it was crumpling before their eyes. He didn’t even noticed Suoh’s shock or Hisana’s murderous expression when he thrust the folder into her hands with a jerky bow. “H…he…here,”

Knife slipping between her fingers like a cigarette, she licked her thumb and flipped the file open. It must have been something awful. The man shook in terror akin to watching his children being beheaded. And when she flipped the file open, her mouth dropped open and she gasped––truly gasped before snapping the file shut so quickly that Kirshima took a brisk step forward. 

“Is this true?” her voice was soft, but burning––lava boiling beneath earth. “Did this happen?”

Sakazaki wheezed uncomfortably. His heartbeat sped up, his palms began to sweat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes,” she closed her eyes, trying to get the wretched image out of her mind. But it was burned into her retinas, forever tattooed on the back of her eyelids. She would see it every time she closed her eyes. “You know exactly what this is.”   
“I know,” Sakazakis head dropped forward. Any hopes of a merciful death evaporated in an instant. 

“Asami-sama?” Kirishima glanced at his partner who shrugged. Neither of them saw what caused the girl such distress. 

“Are. They. Real?” she enunciated each word. Golden eyes bore into Sakazaki’s chest like steel, flaying him open much like Suoh’s knife. She waited impatiently for him to answer. 

“Of course they’re real,” snapped the dying club owner. “I don’t hold onto forgeries, darling. They have no place in business and can be disproven in ten minutes!” Anger coursed through his body, seeping into his fragrant blood. He was furious that he had been caught by his own carelessness. Had he not taunted her father in such a way, his secrets––Akihito’s secret––would be safe. 

Now she knew. 

And now she had to clean this entire fucked up mess before her father found out. He would be weak from the attack on his life; he wouldn’t be able to handle Akihito’s betrayal. 

“You did good work,” the heiress tried to stay calm. Her shoulders quivered and the hand holding the knife went lax. The knife clattered to the floor. The guard looked up. He had wisely kept his head bowed while he waited for her fury. The rest of her men edged closer, curious about what had been discovered. No one could imagine something so awful that it would make grown men tremble. At least, nothing that could fit in a folder. “And good work is rewarded well at Sion.”

The man––she didn’t even know his name––looked up, mouth agape in awe. “Asami-sama?” he asked disbelievingly. A cartoon man would have made a show of cleaning out his ears. 

Jerking her gun from its holster on her hip, she shot the guard twice. Point blank. In the frontal lobe. His eyes sagged as blood and brain exploded from the back of his head. The rest of the guards could barely move before she turned on them, finger squeezing the trigger repeatedly. It was a scene from a movie. Blood flew everywhere, carried by the current from the air conditioner. Her men didn’t understand. Some fell to their knees, others went for their guns. 

When her clip ran out she dropped the gun and pulled out another. In a matter of seconds, fifteen men lay on the ground. Her men, murdered by her own hand. Blood streamed down Sakazaki’s pristine walls, men lay in heaps on the floor. One had been shot in the throat. His blood gurgled and popped like spit bubbles as he struggled to breathe. 

In the epicenter of the room, in the eye of her infuriated storm, sat Sakazaki. He bled profusely, but had not been shot. Kirishima and Suoh stood motionless behind her, unsure about what had happened. Their guns were still safely in their respective holsters; even as she gunned down their comrades, they stood loyal. 

Walking over to the man who’s throat popped blood like bubblegum, she cocked back the hammer on her 9mm. “N…no…” the guard looked to be in his late forties. “Plea…” he struggled to breathe. Pulling out his own gun, Hisana nearly fired but then he put it to his own temple. “It wa…my…pleas–*pop*–sure to…gasp…serve you…”

She jumped when the gun went off. 

Still clutching the folder, Hisana stepped through the dark, oxygenated blood. Setting her gun on Sakazaki’s lap, she leaned in closely. “What was this?”

The club owner dropped his head to the side. Their cheeks pressed together. Strain as they might, Suoh and Kirishima could not hear what was whispered. “Payment for information.”

Her eyes narrowed, “So he was willing?”

Sakazaki smiled. The seeds of doubt had been planted. He might be dying, but the photographer was short for the world, too. The heiress was volatile when angry, and if he had raped the photographer, she would have forgiven him. No no no. This time, the truth would hurt more, would do more damage. He thought along the same lines as Hisana. If Asami found out, it would destroy him. “More willing than he is with Asami, little girl. He got to enjoy it for once it.”

Hearing all she needed to, Hisana pulled back. She pressed her gun to his forehead. “You’re lucky I don't have time to make this hurt more. Any last words?”

The man looked up at her with deep brown eyes. “I could teach what it means to be strong. How to rule this world and keep dimwits in the palm of your hand. Now that your father is dying, you need a teacher.”

“My father isn’t dying,” she corrected the man. “And I need nothing from you.”

“You need better lies,” Sakazaki prodded the bull. He had less than a minute’s worth of life in him, be it from blood loss or her bullet. “For a girl who’s never killed before, you’re good at it.” He looked at the still bodies of her father’s loyal men. 

“Their deaths are on your head, not mine,” she pulled the trigged. The bullet exploded from the metal barrel. It spun in the air, digging into Sakazaki’s cranium where it bounced around, eviscerating his brain. 

The moment she fired, Asami Hisana pivoted. Suoh and Kirishima had started forward, but they quickly stopped to put their hands into the air. “Do we have a problem, gentlemen? Or do I need to shoot you, too?”   
“Hisana,” Suoh’s deep voice rumbled in his chest. He wasn’t angry about the deaths of their men, but saddened. The girl he had known for so long evaporated before his eyes, consumed by a monster that he never thought possible. 

“I can’t,” she shook her head. Eyes closed, the heiress forced back the tears. “I can’t tell you. You’ll have to tell my dad. Neither of you can keep a secret from him.”

“What’s in the folder?” Kirishima asked. 

“Can you trust me? Both of you?” her hand shook. For the first time that night, she was afraid of what would happen, afraid that she may have to kill two people that she loved dearly. “Can you trust me enough to know that you can’t know what’s in here?”

Suoh lowered his hands, as did the secretary. They did not speak for a minute. Heads turning, they looked at each other. Words were not needed now, for they both knew the other’s answer. “Of course,” the body guard replied. 

“If it means protecting you and your father, we don’t need to know,” agreed Kirishima. 

Hisana tried to swallow the cancerous lump in her throat. “Thank you,” her voice was as soft as a summer’s breeze. 

“Now,” Kirishima put a hand on her shoulder. The teen clutched the folder tightly to her breast, afraid that someone may try to rip it from her hands. “We need to leave, and get this place cleaned up.”

“Do whatever you think it best,” Hisana followed Suoh out of the office door. “I trust you. And send the families of these men grievance packages. They died honorably in service.”

“Of course, Asami-sama.”

*

Ryuichi was sleeping soundly. It was not a medically induced slumber, where his chest breathed heavily, but a natural sleep: soft and restful. For the first time in three days, he looked healthier. The photographer’s onus slowly lifted. His lover wasn’t out of the woods yet, but the outlook was no longer uncertain. As long as they followed Reiko-sensei’s every instruction, the fixer would pull through. 

After the doctor had left, Akihito sat next to his recumbent lover, stroking his hand tenderly. He briefed Ryu on the happenings of the past few days. His lover was not shocked that his daughter had stepped into his shoes, and he told Akihito not to bother her at Sion. He would see her when she came home. 

Every time the fixer moved, a pained expression crossed his handsome face. Akihito was always there, offering to help or to get him pain medicine or lift him up. Asami scowled. He was never one to take a sick day, and did not appreciate other’s doting on him. “I’m fine, Akihito,” he would say. But his speech was slurred and it was impossible for him to focus on anything. Whatever pain meds Reiko-sensei had given him were working. Akihito half hoped that the drugs would make Asami say loopy things. No such luck; having that as blackmail material would have come in useful on a rainy day. 

Akihito kept muttering adoring phrases all day. He knew that the man could hear him, and in case anything happened during the night, he wanted Asami to know. “I love you,” he pressed kisses to the fixer’s smooth forehead. “So much. I love you.”

During brief moments of sentience, the golden eyed man would smile. Cracked lips moved but no words ever came out. They didn’t need to be said aloud, however, for Akihito knew what Asami was trying say. Instead, Akihito would shush the man and rub lip balm over his mouth. He knew firsthand how uncomfortable chapped lips were, and he wanted Asami to be comfortable in every way possible. 

“I love you.”

“I love you,”

“…I love you…”

It was a little after eleven when the penthouse door opened. Akihito was on his feet as Asimov ran to the front. He hadn’t expected Hisana home so early, assuming that after the legal business was seen to, there would be illegal business. Smiling, he couldn’t wait to tell her about her father. She would be overjoyed to know that he was doing well, aside from the pain. 

“Hisan––“ her name died on his lips. Her face was bloodless, as white as milk and her eyes were as red as her lipstick. Behind her, Suoh and Kirishima shifted uncomfortably. Something terrible had happened. “What’s wrong?”

“Out!” whipping around, she looked at every guard in the penthouse. “Everybody out now!”

The photojournalist scrunched his face up. This was new. “What’s going on?” he asked to anyone that would answer. 

“OUT!” Hisana screamed. Her entire body shook; in her hand was a creased folder than stained by dark brown splatter. His heart froze. Blood. It was blood on the folder, and she was splattered with in. So were Kirishima and Suoh. 

Suoh jerked his head and immediately the suited goons filed out of the door. Kirishima shut the door. They refused to leave the enraged woman alone with the unsuspecting Takaba Akihito, but they agreed to give her privacy. 

Grabbing Akihito’s shirt with her free hand, she drug the photographer out. Away from the safety of the four walls and the prying ears of her uncles’. Away from her father, who was now able to wake. “What the fucking hell is wrong with you?” Hisana threw him into the open air of the night. 

The wind whipped around them. Stepping around the snow with his bare feet, Akihito raked his hair away from his face and clutched the front of his shirt, pulling it snug across his body. He was in his pajamas, and his pajamas were made for heated air, not snowy nights. “What are you talking about?” he shouted back at Hisana. “I have no idea what’s going on!”

“Did you think that you could get away with it? That no one would ever find out?” she screamed. 

Akihito glanced around them. They were on the highest floor of the tallest building in the area, but any moment, lights from surrounding condos would flip on. Damn, Hisana had a set of pipes of her. “Get away with what?” he tried to keep his voice calm. If he stayed calm, hopefully she would emulate him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I promise!”

“Oh ho ho!” Hisana shoved him, pushing the folder into his hands. “Don’t lie to me!” 

“I’m not––“ 

Words failed him. Opening the folder, his soul left his body. He watched the scene unfold from above. He saw the dumbfounded expression on his face, the fury that encapsulated Hisana until she could not think coherently. “No!” he looked up, his face just as pale as her’s. “No! No!” His hands shook as he looked at the pictures of him sucking Sakazaki off. “This isn’t what you think it is!”

“What am I supposed to think?” she shoved him. Akihito tottered back. He fisted the glossy photos, so clear that he could see his pores and the pink zit on his cheek. “He said you liked it! That it was payment!” 

“No! I mean, yes! It was payment!” he struggled to get the right words out. The wild look in her eyes made his heart race and the way she brushed her fingers over the handle of her glock. Her love for her father superseded all else, and for the first time, Akihito thought she might kill him to preserve Asami Ryuichi. “I didn’t enjoy it! I wouldn’t––you know that!”

“You went back,” she took another threatening step towards him. “You say you didn’t like it, but you went back to him! You don’t look like this anymore!” She stabbed the photos with her finger. His chest buckled. “This wasn’t last week!”

“I wasn’t there to see him! I was following a lead!” the photographer watched Kirishima and Suoh. They kept their eyes trained on them, in case of emergency or attack. But Hisana edged him closer to the wall of the balcony, farther from Asami’s most loyal men. “You have to believe me!”

“Why should I?” she screamed. “You’re fucking him! The proof is right there!”

His back hit the railed wall. It was cement, hitting the small of his back. Akihito did not look over it. He knew that if he did, he’d be sick. They were up high above the clouds, and the heiress was so infuriated that she could push him over with very little effort. He did not want his last sight in the world to be the concrete. “I needed his information!” He blinked tears. “It was,” he struggled to draw his next breath, to explain why it had happened. “It was to help Ryu! He needed…I couldn’t stand by and…and…”

“No!” Hisana snarled. Grabbing his collar, she pushed her body against his. Akihito bent backwards, head in the open night. “No!” This was it. One little shove and he was dead. He deserved it; he caused this. It was time to lie in the bed he made. 

“Hisana!” Suoh and Kirishima burst through the balcony doors, hands outstretched. They would rip her away from Akihito if necessary and quite suddenly, the photographer wished they wouldn’t. He had betrayed Asami, and this was the consequence. 

“You’re supposed to be better than we are!” Hisana screamed. Tears poured down her face as her eyes met his. “You aren’t supposed to do things like that!”

“Hisana,” his voice was soft. 

The girl jerked away from the photographer who stumbled forward, falling onto his knees. He clutched the folder to his chest. Both Kirishima and Suoh stared at it curiously. His stomach twisted sickeningly when he realized that they had no idea what had happened with Sakazaki. Only Hisana. She was protecting him, and that made this all the worse. 

“That’s shit we would do!” Hisana beat her chest, her eyes locked on Akihito. “Not you! You’re too good for that shit! How dare you? How dare you?” Dropping to her knees in front of Akihito, she pulled him into a fierce hug. “He can’t know,” she whispered into his ear. “It would…” she couldn’t finish the words but she didn’t need to. 

Akihito knew what she was saying. If Asami ever found out…not only would it be the end of them, but the fixer would be blind in his fury. No one could guarantee Akihito’s life then. “I know,” he hugged her just as tightly. “I’m sorry. So sorry. It wasn’t…I wasn’t trying to…”

“I know,” the girl replied. “You’d be dead right now if you ere.”

Akihito chuckled uncomfortably. He believed the threat wholeheartedly. He was half convinced that she still might shoot him. After all, she was covered in blood that was obviously not her own. 

Pulling back, Hisana blinked her eyes. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks and her anger morphed into terror. Squeezing her hands together, the girl took a shaky breath. “I’m going to ask you something that I don’t want to ask. But I have to,” looking up at the sky, she tried her best to keep the tears in. Letting out a slow breath to steady her body, Hisana licked her lips. And asked the one question Akihito hoped she never would.

“Did my dad rape you?”

The air was sucked out f the world. Suoh and Kirishima, who had hovered like protectors, turned into stone. Their eyes were wide and their bodies heavy. Neither could move, could stop Takaba from answering. It was inconceivable that the heiress would even ask such a question, yet here it was, and no one had discussed what to say. 

The elephant in the room had been addressed at last. 

“No,” Akihito was shocked at how firm his voice was. Kirishima’s pupils constricted. The secretary was shocked by the brat’s poker face as well. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Hisana’s voice warbled. “My dad isn’t a nice guy. I know what he’s capable…capable of… Tell me truth, Akihito. Please,” the last word was so quiet that he had to strain to hear it in a silent world. 

Hand shaking, he put it on her shoulder. Sakazaki must have alluded to it. How he knew about the beginning of their relationship, Akihito did not give it any thought. The how didn’t matter; she heard the rumor at last and was brave enough to ask him about it. 

“No,” Akihito didn’t even think about the lie. It slipped through his teeth before his brain processed the entire question. Hisana was lying to protect him, and to protect her father. He would not shatter the illusion of a princess. Her father meant the world to Hisana, and Akihito did not want her perception of him. “Listen to me, Hisana,” Akihito grabbed the sobbing girl’s face. “You’re father is the love of my life. I would never hurt him, and he wouldn’t never hurt me. Look at me, Hisana!” he forced her gold eyes to meet his. “Sakazaki was trying to get into your head. We’re happy together. It isn’t…” he stumbled over the words. This was so not how he expected his night to go. “…like that.”

Dropping her head down, Hisana sobbed. He didn’t know if she believed him, if these were tears of relief or sorrow. But her body crumpled forward and she sobbed loudly as the night’s events sunk in. 

*

 

“Do you want these back?” Akihito was the first to break the silence. Kirishima and Suoh finally left, and the regular guards had returned to their posts. It was nearly two o’clock now, and Hisana sat next to him as they watched Ryu sleep. His chest moved up and down; he was breathing predominately on his own. 

“No,” Hisana shook her head. “They’re yours. Do whatever you want with them.”

“I thought you might want them,” he flushed, embarrassed by his thoughts, “For blackmail. Just in case.”

She shook her head. Legs pulled to her chest, she folded her arms on her knees and rested her cheek there. “No. I’ll never say anything about tonight.”

“Oh,” that was not what Ryuichi would have done. His lover was ruthless, and would have kept any advantage over anyone, ally or opponent. Hisana’s dead eyes stared at Ryu. Aki wanted to ask if she believed him, but that would let her know he was lying. The best thing he could do was let her mull it over, convince herself that Sakazaki was lying and hopefully the hero-worship would return to her eyes. If Ryu were to awake at that very moment, there would be very little love in Hisana’s gaze. 

“I’ll be back in a second,” the photographer stood up. Walking to his darkroom, he looked at the folder in his hand. Three hours later and he had yet to let it go. No one questioned him about it, but it received several poignant stares. 

No one ever came into his darkroom. It would be safe here. Perhaps he should have burned them, Akihito thought as he slid the folder in with a thousand other prints that no eye would ever see. Keeping the photos close were a reminder of how he had failed Asami, of his one transgression. Akihito was afraid that if he burned his scarlet letter, that he would be doomed to repeat his mistakes. 

No, it would be better to keep them near. As a reminder of what love would drive him to do. Because he truly loved Asai Ryuichi with all of his heart, and he would do whatever was necessary to protect that man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	18. My Empire of Dirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing but the scenarios and the OCs.

Chapter Six––My Empire of Dirt

Hollowness engulfed him. It was pitch black nothingness, a cavern where his breathing echoed loudly and his heart beat rippled beneath him. He alone in this void, with nothing to see or touch. Or feel. He was surprised at how thin his consciousness felt in his own body. Once upon a time, in the vaguest of memories so distant that they could have been a dream, he had been strong. A pillar. A sentinel. But in the emptiness, he was water. Bodiless and adrift. 

Time meant nothing. Everything was infinite and fleeting concurrently. Sound boomed like thunder, rolling around him and pushing him deeper into the abyss. Hearing himself slosh about was disconcerting. Asami had never been fond of the water, never equated himself with its boundless temerity. He was solid and stoic and dry, a mountain above the sea. He was whole and complete by himself. The water would run over him, evaporate and leave, but he would remain intact. 

“Ryu!”

Sound rocketed around him. He could hear people shouting incomprehensible words. They were voices he knew––voices he should recognize but all he could distinguish was male and female. No faces, no memories, no warmth. Just sound in the nothingness. The void lurched. The voices were jarring. Something was wrong. His spirit swung as if it were strung up in a hammock.

“Ryu! Ryu!” 

Maybe that was why he loathed the water. It was slippery, sliding through his hands. Uncontainable. Free. He should have loved the water, been the water. Water was strong, crushing mountains and cities, feeding the world and covering the entire expanse of history. Water could not be repressed, could not be stopped, could not be contained. And as a mountain, though strong and implacable, Asami Ryuich could be toppled. 

“Get him out of here!”

Yes, something was very wrong. The darkness was wrong. It was not the comforting warmth of a mother’s womb in which he floated, but the undertaker’s coffin. Asami was wrong. He was not passive, he was not a will-less puppet waiting to be used. The man he used to be would not lie waiting in the void. 

“Move!”

The darkness shook, his body vibrating. Asami flew forward, his head hitting the inside of his skull. Pain exploded around him. The man groaned. Groaned! Made the noise instead of hearing it.

“Shit!”

He could feel. He was warm, tightly wrapped in soft sheets. Something beneath his body bounced, shaking him. The impact of his back against the hard surface forced the breath out of his lungs. A whooshing roar surrounded the cabin and then…weightlessness. For the first time, Asami Ryuichi found himself on the brink of consciousness. The darkness was fading, like the dawn after a black storm, and if he fought, if he opened his eyes, he would finally wake. 

“Ryu?” Bright white light flooded the air. He was blind, the light much worse than the empty dark. It was full of things he could not see, enemies he could not attack. A dark shadow loomed over him, framed by golden hair and the man realized he was supine. A halo. He was dead then, and this angel was guarding his soul. 

“Reiko-sensei!” Head turned, the shadowy figure called out words the Asami could not understand. That was okay. Asami was content to listen to the mellifluous song he sang. 

“Ryu!” The angel looked back down. His gentle hand cupped the sinner’s cheek, and the man leaned into the cold touch. It soothed the hellfire in his soul. The fixer wished he could look at seraphic features of his guardian, wondered if they were as statuesque as a kouros, or soft as cherry blossoms. 

“Asami-sama.” Another black shadow appeared. 

Asami growled at this interloper, this idiot that made the angel recoil. 

“Sleep, sir,” the second being said. 

“I love you.” The angel pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead, and an entirely different heat crashed through him. The angel was pulling back. Fear gripped his sinning heart; Asami struggled to lift his hand, desperate to see this perfect face before the darkness swallowed him. “I love you. I love you,” the angel repeated. Something in Asami’s stomach fluttered––perhaps wings of his own––but he could not stave off the dark. 

The world went black. 

*

Asami jolted awake. His body lurched forward before he even thought to move. Sharp pain stabbed his chest, tugged on his arm. He was incredibly sore, his chest tight––each breath seemed to be more pain than it was worth. There was an IV in his arm, and a heart rate monitor taped to his sternum. He was safe. Someone had taken extreme care with his medical needs, and to dress him. Mind racing, the fixer memorized the room quickly. He had no idea where he was. His sensitive eyes wanted to blink, but the crime lord forced them to stay open––to adjust. 

Blinding white light was everywhere. Sunlight bounced off the terra-cotta walls, glinting off a large flatscreen television, and fading into the white cotton sheets. The room was massive: the bed was larger than a king, grand bookcases dominated one wall, and between two open archways, a blue fountain ran down the wall. 

The open arches lead to a green courtyard and he could smell the sea in the air. Wherever he was, it wasn’t Japan.

Pulling the IV out and pealing off his cardio monitor, Asami pushed himself out of the bed before someone could come running in. The house felt like a resort. Relaxing. Quiet. A safe place to heal. This was entirely Kirishima’s doing, the mother hen that he was. 

Walking felt impossible. His joints were swollen. His limbs were stiff and his muscles weak. He had not moved in a long time, and the toxins’ effects lingered. At any moment his legs would give out from under him. Leaning against the wall, the fixer slowly but surely made it to a closed door. And when he did, the breath left his body.

The open ocean spread around him, infinite and as dark as the abyss he nearly fell in. There was no land in sight, just a steep drop into a deep blue sea. A thin black rail surrounded the small balcony. If his legs were to give out, Asami would tumble into the depths and no one would ever know. 

“Mr. Asami!” 

Shock jolted his body. His muscles seized, and if it had not been for two strong hands, darkened by their days in the sun, he would have collapsed on the ground––never having found his family. “I’ve got you,” the surprisingly deep voice said from behind him. Instinct pounded beneath his skin, his hand grabbing the thick arm wrapped around his chest and his elbow shot back, connecting with her meaty ribs. 

“You aren’t going to fall. I’ve got you.” Mortification replaced instinct. This Amazonian behind him thought he stumbled, that his feet fumbled for purchase on the slick ground. She didn’t realize that it was an attack. 

“Where––?” The hoarseness of his voice scraped his throat.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed.” She spoke with a throaty accent; English wasn’t her native language but so proficient was she that it was nearly impossible to tell. “Dr. Reiko won’t be happy.”

Reiko. Definitely Kirishima’s doing, because only he would send the doctor along. Pride dictated that he not let this woman lead him back to bed, that he make it on his own strong legs, but truthfully, Asami depend on her strength. Had she arrived later, he wasn’t sure if he would have stayed on the balcony at all. He could barely stand now.

“I’ll ring for Dr. Reiko,” she was saying. 

“Where am I?” Asami didn’t fight as she tucked the blanket around his legs. She tutted under her breath, checking his forehead brusquely. “Who are you? Where is my family?” Cliche questions, but necessary. He remembered waking––seeing Akihito and hearing that his mother called. Where was Hisana? And why had he been removed from Tokyo?

“Rajahlea.” Deep lines etched her no-nonsense face, tanned and weathered from years in the sun. Her hands were calloused, laboring hands, and her eyes were dull. Unassuming. This was a woman who had kept secrets for decades, and who would continue to do so. “And you are at your daughter’s house.”

“Hisana’s?” The words bounced around in his brain. She didn’t own property. Would not have purchased anything without his knowledge. Not unless this house was purchased solely for his recovery. 

“Asami-sama!” 

Reiko-sensei burst into the room. His white coat had been replaced with a gaudy, printed shirt and a straw-brimmed hat. “Good to see you awake, sir.” He seemed flustered, but smiled. Cursorily reapplying the heart monitor, Reiko-sensi looked at Rajahlea. “Can you get Mr. Takaba?” he asked in perfect English.

The woman walked into the courtyard. “You gave us quite a scare.” Reiko shined a penlight in his eyes. “We weren’t sure if you would pull through.”

“What did they use?” His tongue flicked over his dry lips. The saline bag had kept him hydrated, but he felt dusty. Decrepit. Like the doctor had pulled him from the edge of death. But there was business to attend to, and Asami would be damned if he let any discomfort keep him from working. 

“Pavulon and tetrodotoxin.” Reiko-sensei sat in a wicker chair beside the bed.

His mind fired rapidly. “This should have been lethal,” the fixer replied, eyes narrowed. It was some Frankensteinian death cocktail, one meant to cause as much pain as possible. That explained why he felt like his every neuron had been set alight. “Who did it?”

Asking why he was alive was pointless. Reiko-sensi would tell him if was pertinent. The who mattered more than the why, because whys would not make second attempts. Or go after his family.

“We don’t know,” Reiko-sensei shrugged. “Asami-sama is tracking down leads now––“

His brow quirked. “Asami-sama?” 

Hisana. 

“Ryu!”

Asami lurched forward again, hands outstretched. Akihito came barreling into the room, a jubilant smile, brighter than the sun, on his face. His skin was bright pink, clashing with his blond hair. They hadn’t been at the house long if the photographer was only burnt, not tanned. 

“Thank God you’re awake!” The boy skidded to a halt by his bed. High pitched yipping cried out. A white furball jumped excitedly when she heard the change in the fixer’s breathing. 

“Akihito.” His boy was breathing heavily. A roar rushed through his ears, encapsulating all sound. All he could see was a blond head and shaking hands that reached for him. “Akihito.” Asami could only say that name. But, it was enough. That name was his anchor, his peace. Whatever had happened suddenly became insignificant because his lover was standing beside him, unharmed. “Akihito.”

The boy pulled Asami to his lips. Teeth clanking, their mouths crashed over each other with desperate need–– as if Akihito was sucking Asami’s soul into his own body. His lips were raw. Blood trickled out of the rips, down into their mouths, and neither cared. “Ryu,” the blond repeated. Eyes shut, he rested his forehead against the fixer’s. “You’re back.”

“Of course, Akihito,” his own voice was hoarse. Gently stroking wet cheeks, Asami pressed another kiss to the soft lips. Akihito was crying. “We haven’t reached the abyss yet.”

His boy pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “To the abyss and back,” he promised. The photographer’s melodic voice was triumphant, his eyes danced. In that moment, pure and unadulterated joy radiated from him. At last, all was right in the world. 

Pulling Akihito onto the bed, Asami tucked the blond’s head beneath his chin before he spoke again. Ueda and Nakao were standing not too far off. Reiko still sat beside him. And Ruger yipped from the floor. Not the council he expected when he woke.

“Where are we?” Asami rapidly assessed the situation. Hisana was nowhere to be seen. Kirishima and Suoh would have been with her––watching over her. In Tokyo, at Sion: in the lion’s den. She could not stand against the rats the scurried in the shadows. They nearly destroyed him; she would be food for fodder, even with his best men protecting her. “I need to get back to Tokyo. Where is my phone?”

“No!” Akihito shouted. He scrambled off of the bed and firmly pushed Asami back down. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

“Akihito––“

“I’m afraid that Takaba-san is right, sir,” chimed in the old doctor. Blue eyes glanced at the fixer’s vitals. “Asami-sama ordered us to keep you here until you have recovered sufficiently.” 

“You don’t work for my daughter.” The snarling Asami tried to get up, but he was so weak that Akihito effortlessly kept him down. 

“At the moment I do,” Reiko-sensei responded. “We all do.”

“Why isn’t Kirishima running the company?” Asami demanded. He huffed loudly, shooting Akihito a scathing glare. Breathing was more difficult than he remembered. “That’s his damn job.”

Reiko-sensei shook his head. “I can’t speak to Asami-sama’s mind. She has taken full control of Sion, and I believe she intends to keep it until you have recovered––which you will do more quickly if you rest.”

“I’m recovered enough now. Ueda, get me my phone!” His weakness infuriated him. His word was law; men quaked when faced with his specter. His slim lover should not have been able to keep him in bed! 

“Don’t do it, Ueda!” Akihito ordered. Asami balked at the authority in his lover’s voice. Akihito squared his shoulders to stare down the goons. “You both know what Suoh said. No contact until Reiko-sensei says so. No matter what.” 

Resentment flared in his chest when both subordinates bowed. “Yes, Takaba-san,” they murmured. 

“If you have a problem with it, you can talk to me,” Akihito wheeled on the fixer. “Don’t give me that look. You almost died, Ryu. Died. I won’t let you do anything that jeopardizes your life.”

“You don’t get to make that call,” growled Asami. 

Akihito was not intimidated by the man’s fury. Not after seeing him floundering for each breath. The desperation to never see it again overrode everything else. “I do today.” He looked around the room. No one seemed willing to challenge him, and the fire that coursed through Asami’s veins was not ire. 

“At least tell me where we are.” Asami attempted to negotiate around the blond’s info ban. He could extrapolate quite a bit from the smallest of clues, and use it to his advantage. He would be back at Sion by the end of the week. 

Akihito glanced at Dr. Reiko in askance. The old man nodded, and really, Akihito couldn’t see the harm in telling Asami where they were. It wasn’t like he could escape and get back to Japan. “Challaçao. It’s a private island in French Indonesia.” 

“Why?” So the Amazon was correct: Hisana must have owned this island, because he did not. And Kirishima would not have sent him to another’s home. He wasn’t sure how she would have been able to afford it, but he would get to the bottom of it all––which meant playing Akihito against Reiko. They couldn’t be allies in this. 

Akihito sighed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took the fixer’s hand. “Somebody tried to kill you.”

He said it slowly, as if the fixer had not lived it. “I am well aware,” Asami grunted. The pain meds were starting to wear off, but they made his mind cloudy. Pain was preferable to being addlepated.“We discussed it yesterday.”

“No, Asami-sama,” Reiko-sensei stood up, head bowed. “Several men forced their way into your home while you slept. They used me to get them in.”

Asami didn’t bother making sure that the doctor was still loyal. He would be dead if he wasn’t, which meant that somehow he alerted Kirishima to the plot. “Are the assailants alive?” Though it put Akihito at risk, it was a tangible lead. 

Said photographer’s face curled up. Not in repulsion––fury. “We don’t really know.” It nearly sounded like he wanted the assassins dead. 

“Tell me the story,” demanded the fixer. Something was wrong. Akihito’s fury, Hisana’s absence, the island. The pointed look the photographer shared with Reiko said it all: he wasn’t supposed to know. Hisana had forbidden it. 

“It’s better if he knows the truth, Takaba-san,” Reiko said at last. “If he knows, he can focus on healing.”

Akihito sighed skeptically. “Fine. Whatever it takes to keep you in bed,” he laughed mirthlessly. Angrily. “It shouldn’t shock me that you get what you want. Again.”

After the confrontation with Sakazaki, no one slept well. Akihito tossed and turned all night. Every time he closed his eyes, he could smell Sakazaki, feel the heat of his skin, the hardness in his mouth. Hisana had killed the club owner––she had been covered in so much blood that there was no other option––but that did not erase his ghost. If anything, Akihito’s guilt magnified. 

The photojournalist moved sluggishly. Bloodshot eyes blinked as he fumbled for the coffeepot. Fuck, his head hurt. Drip. Drip. Drip. Usually, the percolation gave him a second-hand buzz. Drip. Drip. Not today. Drip. The reverberating drip made his temple throb. 

“What time is Reiko-sense coming?” Hisana didn’t look up from her oatmeal. She looked about as good as he felt. 

“He should have been here by now,” the twenty-four year old admitted. The microwave blinked 8:38 in neon red. “He’s usually punctual.” Asimov lifted his head curiously when the blond opened the fridge. “It’s just cereal, boy.” The blue pit bull lay his head back on his crossed paws, uninterested in the sugary sweetness that was Dancing Hippo’s Cereal.

“Maybe there is traffic.” The long night had not smoothed out the wrinkles in their relationship. She couldn’t bear to look at him, and he really didn’t know what to say. 

“Asami-sama,” a guard––there were so many that Akihito couldn’t remember their names anymore––held a phone to his ear. “Reiko-sense has arrived.”

“See? Traffic.” Akihito tried to lighten the suffocating solemnity.

“He has two medical students with him. Ono-sensei and Ikena-sensei.”

Hisana balked. “What?” Her chair scraped against the floor when she stood up. Ludicrous. Absolutely ridiculous. Her father was too vulnerable and unstable to be exposed to new, unvetted people. Reiko-sense knew that. He never would have permitted it. 

“Asami-sama?” The guard waited for her go-ahead. No one entered the condo, even known friends, without permission.

“Send him up,” Hisana nodded. The goon disappeared back to the genkan. “Akihito.” The photojournalist flinched at his name. He never though he would miss Mom. “Call Suoh.”

“Do you think there’s a problem?” He took off for his phone. Dammit, why had he left it in his room?

“Not sure.” Hisana said from the kitchen. “It’s definitely weird.”

She could say that again. Even if it was an anomaly, Akihito would feel better if Suoh was there. The giant was the only person that Akihito trusted Asami’s safety with one hundred percent. 

The doorbell rang. Hisana took off to the door, tucking a kitchen knife in the band of her jammy pants. “Stay in the kitchen.” No one knew he was involved with Asami, and if this was on the up-and-up, it needed to stay that way. “C’mon Suoh,” Aki groaned into the phone. “Pick up.” 

“Takaba?” Souh’s mouth sounded full. 

“Two men cam in with Reiko-sensei,” he whispered. “Hisana’s talking to them now.”

“Stay where you are.”

Ears forward, Asimov trotted out of the kitchen. Akihito grabbed for his collar, but the curious dog was too fast. Footsteps made the floor vibrated.

“Takaba!” Suoh thundered. 

Akihito dropped the phone to his side. Hisana didn’t glance into the kitchen as she led the party past. Reiko-sensei’s hand squeezed her shoulder. The two students trailing quietly behind in teal scrubs, but their gorilla-esque forearms screamed fighter, not healer. 

They didn’t see him. 

“Akihito!”

He thought he heard the mammoth running. “I gotta go.”

“What the fuck?” an unfamiliar voice echoed. There was a thump, a man swearing and then Hisana started shouting. 

“Drop the gun!”

Akihito took off running. Ryu! Hisana cried out in pain, the sound of flesh slapping less reverberated. Shit, shit! The knife was on the floor, just outside the room. 

“Don’t you dare touch him!” That was Reiko-sensei’s voice. The floor shook when something––someone––fell. 

“Ryu!”

Strong arms grabbed his torso. “I’ve got Takaba!” 

No! No! Akihito flailed. He was so close to the damn door, a meter at most. No! His family needed him. “Ryu!” He jerked and clawed at the iron bands that caged him. No! Ryu needed him! Asmiov was barking and Hisana was screaming and that was his family! 

“Takaba!” Ueda hissed. “Please!”

Suoh rushed past. Goons followed in his wake, guns drawn. Ueda stumbled when bodies jammed into the hallway.

“Suoh!” Akihito breathed a sigh of relief. It was gonna be okay. He’d stop them––

A gunshot ran out. Akihito froze. Oh, God.

“No!” Hisana screamed. Was screaming. Never stopped screaming.

“Ryu!” Ueda’s grip relaxed, and the blond was able to break free. Even Suoh stumbled when he barreled into the room. 

“You fucking bastard!” The drywall crumpled. “I’m going to put your head through the fucking wall! Fucking bastard!” Akihito threw an arm up as he ran, lest the drywall crumble on him. 

“Hisana!” Suoh reached her first. 

“Kill him!” the girl ordered.

“Move!” The blond elbowed the guards who converged around the doorway, watching. Useless. “Oh fuck,” he gasped wetly. 

Blood was spattered everywhere, like some macabre modern art piece. One of the medical students lay still on the floor, his face bloody and bludgeoned. Suoh was pulling Hisana away from the other, leaving his face in the wall, where he hung limply. Reiko-sensei pressed fingers covered in coagulating blood to Ryu’s pulse. Breathing. Uninjured. Thank God, the fixer was okay. Blood smothered the sheets but he was fine.

Why was there so much blood?

Akihito couldn’t breath. It was like his lungs vanished from his chest. No. Asimov lay on the crime lord’s legs, blue eyes open and a hole in his forehead. Sensing the threat, he jumped between the man and the bullet. He saved Asami’s life. 

“Hisana!” Suoh had to lift the apoplectic girl off the floor. Her feet slid on the floor. Fat tears rolled down her face as she clawed red gashed down Suoh’s arms. She couldn’t support herself, couldn’t reach the murderer that she wanted to flay.

“No!” she kicked and screamed. White spittle flew on the bloodcurdling shrieked. “I’m going to kill him!”

“You’ve got to calm down!” he thundered. “We need them alive if we want any information!”

“I don’t care! I don’t care! I’ll kill them all!” She was inconsolable. Nothing could have destroyed her more. 

Akihito could hear Ruger whining from under the bed, terrified. Slipping past the giant, he nodded to Reiko. The doctor must have been on their side. After all, he did try to warn them. “Here,” he said softly. Untucking the sheets from the bed, he wrapped them around the dog’s body.

“Mom,” Hisana faltered.

“C’mon, boy.”Akihito hefted him off the bed.

“Oh no.” The girl stopped moving. “Please………no………” Hisana fell to her knees, out of Suoh’s grasp, to reach for the beloved pit bull. 

“Here.” Akihito knelt beside her.

Hisana pulled Asimov against her. “God, Assie. No. No. No.”

Akihito wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed into his chest. Suoh issued orders. The guards began to move around them, the swirling storm around the eye. The attackers were taken somewhere for questioning. Kirishima was called. Reiko-sensei softly told Suoh the story that lead to the invasion, to the murder. Several men entered his home, taking hiss family hostage and threatening death if he didn’t take them to Asami. 

“I tried to warn her,” he stuttered to the giant. “I tapped Morse Code on her shoulder. I think she understood.” They both looked at the wailing girl who hadn't heard them. Men were dispatched to Reiko’s house. Once again, Akihito was shocked by the loyalty Asami inspired.

The family would have to be moved. Again, their home wasn’t safe. Their enemies were circling like sharks, and if they could not defend their strongholds, what use were they? Sensing a change in the maelstrom, watching Kirishima whisper with Reiko and hearing Suoh on his cell, Hisana forced herself to stop grieving . “You can’t stay here,” her voice was barely audible. “It’s not safe.”

“We’ll move,” Akihito promised just as softly. 

The heiress shook her ruddy, swollen face. “No, we won’t.” Clouded eyes glared at nothing. “You’re going to take him far away from Japan, and you won’t bring him back until it’s safe.”

“Where?” Akihito knew Suoh was listening. They all were, and no one was subtle about it.

“Challaçao.”

“Challaçao?” Asami repeated. The awkward word clunked around his teeth. His gut twisted. Hisana would have been inconsolable, still surely was, and by the way Akihito clutched Ruger to his chest, he wasn’t doing much better. “Are you all right?” He reached for the boy’s hand. 

Akihito took a shaky breath. Blinking away tears, he replied, “As good as anyone can be.”

“I am so sorry.” And he meant it. Asami never would have wished suffering on the animal, or his family. “For everything.

“This is why you have to stay here. Stay safe. To get better. I cant’t––“ his voice faltered. “Not again, Ryu. I–I–I just…cant…”

“Okay.” For Akihito, he would do it. Follow Reiko-sensei’s orders and recover. Become stronger, strong enough to kill any enemy. He would do anything for his lover.  
Akihito licked his lips. Maybe he was manipulating the fixer’s emotions, but he was desperate. “Promise me, Ryuichi.”

The golden eyed man nodded. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update anything. I know, I know, I know. I'm absolutely the worst. Every day I get reviews and favorites and kudos, and I act like I'm dead. I
> 
> The good news is, I am doing ViewFinder for NaNoWriMo. I haven't decided yet if I am just doing Sunshine/Hurt, or if I will do Inverted/Hyacinthus Bloomed as well. If you have a preference, let me know!
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience. Again, I apologize for going dark for so long. Hopefully you all enjoy this as much as you used to. Love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a fairly short story, but I am in the mood for some angst and melodrama. None of that is in Hyacinthus Bloomed so far, so this is satisfying that urge.


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